A Singularly Unpleasant Creature: Let's Read Flashman!

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Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

I must have gaped like an idiot � and then I was facing front again, chilled with horror. This was the man who'd seen me grovelling to Sam Collinson, my abject companion in shame�and here he was, riding at my shoulder like bloody Nemesis, no doubt on the point of denouncing me to the world as a poltroon�it's a great thing to have a conscience as guilty as mine, I can tell you; it always makes you fear far more than the worst. My God! And yet�it couldn't be! the Irishman had been a sergeant of the 44th; this was a trooper of Dragoon Guards. I must be mistaken; he hadn't been staring at me at all�he must have been grinning at some joke of his mate's, when I'd caught his eye, and my terrified imagination was doing the rest -

"Where the hell d'you think you're goin', Nolan?" It was the Dragoon corporal, just behind. "Keep in file!"

Nolan! That had been the name Moyes had spoken�oh, God, it was him, right enough.

I daren't look round; I'd give myself away for certain. I must just ride on, chatting to Parkes as though nothing had happened, and God knows what I said, or how much farther we rode, for I was aware of nothing except that my cowardly sins had found me out at last. You may think I was in a great stew over nothing�what had the great Flashy to fear from the memory of a mere lout of a trooper, after all? A hell of a deal, says I, as you'll see.

But if I was in a state of nervous funk for the rest of the day, I remember the business we did well enough. At Tang-chao, we met the great Prince I, the Emperor's cousin, a tall, skinny crow of a Manchoo in gorgeous green robes, with all his nails cased; he looked at us as if we were dirt, and when Parkes said we hoped the arrangements agreed for Elgin's entry to Pekin were still satisfactory to their side, he hissed like an angry cat.

"Nothing can be discussed until the barbarian leader has withdrawn his presumptuous request for an audience with the Son of Heaven, and begged our pardon! He does not come to Pekin!"

Parkes, to my surprise, just smiled at him as though he were a child and said they must really talk about something important. Elgin was going to Pekin, and the Emperor would receive him. Now, then �

At this Prince I went wild, spitting curses, calling Parkes a foreign cur and reptile and I don't know what, and Parkes just smiled away and said Elgin would be there, and that was that. And in this way the time passed until (it's a fact) six o'clock, when Prince I had cursed himself hoarse. Then Parkes got up, repeated for the four hundredth time that Elgin was going to Pekin�and suddenly Prince I said, very well, with a thousand cavalry, as agreed. Then in double time he and Parkes settled the wording of a proclamation informing the public that peace and harmony were the order of the day, and we retired to the quarters that had been prepared for us, and had dinner.

Prince I, or Zaiyuan would receive several thankless tasks in impossible times.

quote:

"Who said the Chinese were negotiators!" scoffs Parkes. "The man's a fool and a fraud."

"He caved in very suddenly," says Loch. "D'you trust him?"

"No, but I don't need to. Their goose is cooked, Loch, and they know it, and because they can't abide it, they squeal like children in a tantrum. And if he goes back on his word tomorrow, it doesn't matter�because the Big Barbarian is going to Pekin, anyway."

It was arranged that in the morning, while De Normann and Bowlby (who wanted some copy for his rag) would stay in Tang-chao with Anderson and the sowars, the rest of us would return to the army, Parkes and Loch to report to Elgin, Walker and Ito guide them to the camp site. The others turned in early, except for Parkes, who had invited one of the lesser mandarins over for a chat, so I retired to the verandah to rehearse my anxieties for the umpteenth time, able to sweat and curse in private at last.

Nolan knew me. What would he say�what could he say? Suppose he told the shameful truth, would anyone believe him? Never. But why should he say anything�dammit, he'd grovelled, too � I went all through my horrid fears again and again, pacing in the dark little garden away from the house, chewing my cheroot fiercely. What would he say -

"A foine evenin', colonel," was what, in fact, he said, and I spun round with an oath. There he was, by the low wall at the garden foot�standing respectfully to attention, rot him, the trooper out for an evening stroll, greeting his superior with all decorum. I choked back a raging question, and forced myself to say nonchalantly:

"Why, I didn't see you there, my man. Yes, a fine evening." I hoped to God it was too shadowy for him to see me trembling. I lit another cheroot, and he moved forward a step. "Beg pardon, sorr � don't ye remember me?"

I had myself in hand now. "What? You're one of the dragoons, aren't you?"

"Yes, sorr. I mean afore that, sorr." He had one of those soft, whiny, nut-at-ahl Irish brogues which I find especially detestable. "Whin I wuz in the 44th�afore dey posted me to the Heavies. Shure, an' it's just a month since�I think ye mind foine."

"Sorry, my boy," says I pleasantly, my heart hammering. "I don't know much of the 44th, and I certainly don't know you." I gave him a nod. "Good-night."

I was turning away when his voice stopped me, suddenly soft and hard together. "Oh, but ye do, sorr. An' I know you. An' we both know where it wuz. At Tang-ku, when Moyes got kilt."

What should an innocent man say to that? I'll tell you: he turns sharp, frowning, bewildered. "When who was killed? What the devil are you talking about? Are you drunk, man?"

"No, sorr, I'm not drunk! Nor I wuzn't drunk then! You wuz in the yard at Tang-ku whin they made us bow down to yon Chink bastard �"

"Silence! You're drunker than David's sow! You're raving! Now, look here, my lad�you cut along to your billet and I'll say no more �"

"Oh, but ye will! Ye will dat!" He was shaking with excitement. "But first ye'll listen! For I know, ye see, an' I can say plenty more �"

"How dare you!" I forced myself to bark. "You insolent rascal! I don't know what you're talking about, or what your game is, but another word from you and I'll get you a bloody back for your damned insolence, d'ye hear?" I towered, outraged, glaring like a colonel. "I'm a patient man, Nolan, but �"

It was out before I knew it, and he saw the blunder as soon as I did. The eyes bulged with triumph in his crimson face.

"Whut's dat? Nolan, d'ye say? An' if ye don't know me, how the hell d'ye know me name, den?"

In fact, I'd heard his corporal use it that day, but in my panic I remembered only Moyes at the grog-cart. I was speechless, and he rattled on excitedly:

"It wuz you! By the Virgin, it wuz you in that yard, crawlin' wid the rest on us, me an' the coolies�iveryone but Moyes! I didn't know yez from Rafferty's pig�till I seed ye in the lines, two days since, an' rec'nised ye! I did that! An' I asked the boys: `Who's dat?' They sez: `Shure, an' dat's Flash Harry, the famous Afghan hero, him that wan the Cross at Lucknow, an' kilt all the Ruskis, an' that. Shure, 'tis the bravest man in th'Army, so it is.' Dal's whut they said." He paused, getting his breath back in his excitement, and for the life of me I could only mouth at him. He stepped closer, breathing whisky at me. "An' I sez nuthin', but I thinks, is that a fact, now? 'Cos I seen him when he wuzn't bein' so bloody heroical, lickin' a Chinese ******** boots an' whinin' fer his life!"

If I'd been heeled, I'd have shot him then and there, and drat the consequences. For there was no doubt he had me, or where he was going. He nodded, bright-eyed, and licked his coarse lips.

"Aye, so I got to studyin'. An' whut d'ye think? Sez I to meself, `Shure, whut a hell of a pity it'd be, if this wuz to get about, like.' In the Army, ye know? I mean�even if iveryone said, och, it's just Paddy Nolan lyin' again�d'ye not think there's some might believe the shave*(* Rumour.), eh? There'd be questions, mebbe; there might even be wan hell of a scandal." He shook his head, leering. "Talk, colonel. Ugly talk. Ye know what I mean? Bad for the credit o' th'Army. Aye, a bloody back's a sore thing, so it is�but it heals faster'n a blown reppitation." He paused a moment. "I'd think, meself, it'd be worth keepin' quiet. Wouldn't you, colonel?"

I could bluster still�or not. Better not; it would be a waste of time. This was a cunning swine; if he spread his story as well as he'd summed it up, I was done for, disgraced, ruined. I knew my Army, you see, and the jealousies and hatreds under the hearty grins. Oh, I didn't lack for enemies who'd delight in sniffing it all out, prying till they found Carnac, compared dates, put two and two together�where had I been on August 13, eh? Even if I could bluff it away, the mud would stick. And this sly peasant could see clear through; he knew he didn't have to prove a thing, that being guilty I'd be ready to fork out to prevent any breath of rumour -

"Sir Harry! Are you there?" It was Parkes's voice, calling sharply from the verandah twenty yards away; his figure was silhouetted against the glow from the house. "Sir Harry?"

Nolan took a swift step back into the shadows. " 'Tis another word we'll be havin' tomorrow, colonel�eh?" he whispered. "Until den." I heard his soft chuckle as I turned to the house, still stricken dumb, with Parkes crying: "Ah, there you are! Care for a nightcap?"

Laid low by an uppity serf, the shame would be unbearable.

quote:

How much sleep I got you may imagine. I couldn't defy the brute�the question was whether it was safer to pay squeeze and risk his blabbing another day, or kill him and try to make it look accidental. That was how desperate I was, and it was still unresolved when we saddled up at dawn to ride back to the army. As the party fell in under the trees, a sudden reckless devil took hold of me, and I told the dragoon corporal I'd inspect the escort; Parkes cocked an amused eyebrow at this military zeal, while the corporal bawled his troopers into mounted line. I rode slowly along, surveying each man carefully while they sweated in the sun; I checked one for a loose girth, asked the youngest how long he'd been in China, and came to Nolan on the end, staring red-faced to his front. A fly settled on his cheek, and his lip twitched.

"`Let it be, my boy," says I, jocular-like. "If a fly can sit still, so can you. Name and service?"

"Nolan, sorr. Twelve years." His brow was running wet, but he sat like a statue, wondering what the hell I was about.

"Trahnsferred las' month, sir, when 44th went dahn to Shang'ai," says the corporal. "Cavalry trained, tho'; in the Skins, I b'lieve."

"Why'd you transfer, Nolan?" I asked idly, and he couldn't keep his voice steady.

"If ye please, sorr � I � I tuk a fancy to see Pee-kin, sorr."

"Looking for excitement, eh?" I smiled. "Capital! Very good, corporal�form up."

If you ask what I was up to � why, I was taking a closer look by daylight�and unsettling the bastard; it never hurts. But it was a wasted effort, for in the next hour everything changed, and even disgrace and reputation ceased to matter � almost.

The road had been empty coming up, but from the moment we left Tang-chao we were aware of a steady movement of Imperial troops�a few odd platoons and half-sections at first, and then larger numbers, not only on the road but in the paddy and millet-fields either side. What seemed most odd, they were moving in the same direction as ourselves�towards our army. I didn't like the look of 'em above half, but there was nothing to do but forge ahead. We rode at a steady canter for about an hour, past increasing numbers, and when we came to Changkia-wan, about half-way home, the town was thick with them, and there was no doubt of it: we were in the middle of a thumping big Imperial army. Parkes wanted to stop to make inquiries, the rear end, but as senior officer I wouldn't allow it, and we cantered out of the place�and had to skirt the road to pass a full regiment of Bannermen, great ugly devils in bamboo armour who scowled and shouted abuse at us as we thundered by.

"What can this mean?" cries Parkes, as we drew clear. "They cannot intend to put themselves in Sir Hope's way, surely?"

"They ain't going to a field day!" says I. "Colonel Walker, how many d'you reckon we've come through?"

"Ten thousand, easily," says he. "But God knows how many there are in the millet-fields�those stalks are fifteen feet high."

Looks itchy. Also

Christ, you could hide a damned war elephant in there.

Arbite fucked around with this message at 08:48 on Jan 5, 2025

# ? Dec 12, 2024 05:39

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# ? Nov 7, 2025 12:45

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

I really want to read up on the expedition to Peking and just how/why the negotiations and battles went the way they did. Really bizarre blending of military operations and diplomacy, with two sides that didn't share anything like the same reasoning process.

# ? Dec 12, 2024 09:42

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

"What's to be done is get to the Army. Close up, there!" "But, my dear sir! They cannot mean any treachery, I �" "Mr Parkes," says I, "when you've ridden through as many armies as I have, you learn how to smell mischief�and it's breast-high here, I can tell you."

"But we must not exhibit any signs of distrust!"

"Right you are," says I. "Anyone who pukes or soils himself will answer to me!" Which had the troopers haw-hawing, while Parkes looked furious. "Really, sir�if they intended any harm, would they advance in full view? Why, the country to our right is quite clear!"

So it was, and the millet was so high to the left that for a moment we seemed all alone. I glanced right�and Walker was doing the same thing. Our eyes met, and I grabbed Parkes's bridle as we rode, heading him out to the right, while he demanded to know what I was about.

"You'll see," I told him. What Walker and I had noticed was a big nullah away on the right, and now we went for it full lick, turning down its lip as we reached it, and Parkes gave a great cry of astonishment, and would have reined in, but I kept him going.

"In full view, eh?" says I. "That settles it!"

There were three thousand Tartar horsemen in that nullah if there was one, dismounted, with drawn sabres, and they gave a great roar at the sight of us. But now I had us heading left again, towards the road and the little village beyond which lay the camp-site to which our army would presently be advancing. As we thundered past it a little group of horsemen broke cover, led by a mandarin who yelled at us to keep away. Beyond him I could see the guns in the trees.

"Masked battery!" cries Walker. "Jesus�look at that!"

As we came through the fringe of trees to the camp-site, the whole eastern horizon seemed to be moving. Immediately to our left, a long bund stretched away, and it was lined with heavy guns, covering the camp-site; in the millet behind the bund the country was alive with Tiger soldiers, the black and yellow stripes clear to be seen, but on the eastern flank of the plain was the sight that had brought Walker up in his stirrups�long lines of Tartar cavalry, advancing at the walk, thousands upons thousands of them. We raced out into the unoccupied camp-site, and suddenly Parkes reined in, white-faced.

"Sir Harry! Stop, if you please!" I reined up, and the whole troop followed. "Sir Harry, I am returning to Tang-chao! I must inform Prince I of this � this extraordinary proceeding!"

I couldn't believe it�and then I realised his pallor wasn't fear, but anger. He was in a positive fury, so help me.

"Good God!" I cried. "D'you think he doesn't know?"

"It is impossible that he should! Mr Loch, will you return to Lord Elgin at once, and inform him of what is happening? Sir Harry, I must ask for a small escort, if you please. One trooper will be sufficient."

I'm a true-blue craven, as you know, but I'm also too old a soldier to waste time raving. "You'll never come out alive," says I.

"No, you are mistaken. I shall be perfectly safe. My person is inviolate."

D'ye know, it was on the tip of my tongue to holler "It may be in bloody lilac stripes for all the good it'll do you!" but I kept a grip, thinking in the saddle. It must be a good ten miles to the army, with God knew how many Chinese along the road; if there was trouble it would be here, and the risk of cutting and running was appalling. The prospect of returning to Tang-choa was even worse...

This must be reminding Flash of Burnes and worse. Except...

quote:

�except for one thing. Parkes was right: he was inviolate. Whoever the Chinks cut up, it wouldn't be Her Majesty's biggest diplomatic gun bar Elgin himself; they wouldn't dare that. It came home to me with blinding clarity that the one safe place in the whole ugly mess was alongside H. Parkes, Esq.

"Very good, Mr Parkes," says I. "I'll ride with you. Corporal, detail two dragoons as escort. Mr Loch, take one trooper, ride to the army, inform Sir Hope and Lord Elgin. Colonel Walker, remain here with the rest of the party to observe; retire at discretion. Corporal," I drew him aside; he was a rangy lantern-jawed roughneck with a tight chin-strap. "If it gets ugly, scatter and ride through, d'ye hear? Get to Grant�whatever anyone else says, tell him�Flashy says `Close up.' Mind that. I'm counting on you � Mr Loch, what the dooce are you waiting for? Be off�at a steady canter! Don't run! Mr Parkes, I suggest we lose no time!"

Doing my duty by the army, you see, before bolting to what I hoped to God was safety. I glanced round: Tartar cavalry two miles to the left, closing slowly; masked batteries on the bund�and now the concealed Tartars emerging from the nullah to the right, streaming down in a great mass. The camp-site was a death-trap � but Grant would steer clear of it. I slapped Parkes's screw, and we raced away, the two dragoons at our heels, back through the trees and on to the Tang-choa road.

Would you call it growth Flashman getting so much better at being himself?

quote:

Before we'd gone a mile I was breathing easy; whether all the troops we'd seen coming down had now reached the camp-site, I don't know, but the way was clear, and when we met Chinese they didn't attempt to stay us: We were in Tang-choa under the hour, and while Parkes hurried off to find Prince I, I set the dragoons searching for Anderson and the others. It was only then that I realised one of my dragoons was Nolan. Hollo, thinks I, we may find advantage in this yet.

Tang-choa ain't a big place, and I found two Sikh troopers near the bazaar. Bowlby Sahib was buying silk, says they, grinning, and sure enough he was festooned in the stuff, with his money on the table while the vendor shook his sticks to determine the price, with Anderson and De Normann chaffing and half a dozen sowars chortling round the stall.

"I can't gamble with Times money!" Bowlby was laughing, pink in the face. "Delane will go through my accounts himself, I tell you! I say, Anderson, tell him to name a price and I'll cough it up, hang it!"

I tapped Anderson's arm. "Everyone to the square, quietly, in two's and three's. No fuss. We're riding in ten minutes."

Good boy, Anderson; he nodded, called a joke to De Normann, passed word to his jemadar and the Sikhs began to drift off, slow and easy. I left him to bring Bowlby, and went to find another horse from our two remounts; I ride thirteen stone, and if there was one thing I wanted it was a fresh beast.

Anderson had his troop ready in the square by the temple�loafing so as not to attract notice, I was glad to see�and there was nothing to do but wait for Parkes and tell De Normann and Bowlby what had happened. It was roasting hot now, in the dusty square; the beasts stamped and jingled, and the sowars yawned and spat, while Anderson strolled, hands in pockets, whistling; my nerves were stretching, I can tell you, when there was a clatter of hooves, and who should it be but Loch, with two sowars carrying white flags on their lance-points, and young Brabazon, a staff-walloper.

Yes, Loch had seen Grant, and after reporting had felt bound to return for Parkes and me; he said it almost apologetically, blinking and stroking his beard, while I marvelled at human folly. The Imps were in greater force than ever at the camp-site, and in Loch's opinion, presenting a most threatening appearance, but while Montauban had been all for a frontal attack, Grant was sitting tight, to give us time to get clear. That cheered me up, for if he didn't advance the Imps would have nothing to shoot at, and all might blow over; but it was still gruelling work waiting for Parkes; I beguiled the time trying to think of fatal errands on which I might despatch Trooper Nolan, who was sitting aside, puffing his pipe, his bright little eyes sliding every so often in my direction.

Suddenly here was Parkes, riding alone, pausing to scribble furiously in his note-book, and in a fine taking. "I am out of all patience with I!" snaps he. "He is a lying scoundrel! Sam Collinson has been at work, stirring up resistance, and what d'you think I had the effrontery to say? That it is all our fault for insisting on Lord Elgin's entering Pekin!"

"You said that?" says Loch, puzzled.

"What? Of course not! I said it!" cries Parkes, and as God's my witness, they began to discuss the personal pronoun.

quote:

One thing rapidly became clear: the Chinks had repudiated the agreement made only yesterday, and were now vowing that unless Elgin withdrew his demand, they were ready to fight. "There can be no peace!" Prince I had shouted at Parkes. "It must be war!"

I gave the word to Anderson, and we were off at the canter, stretching to a gallop as we left the town. With luck, we might pass through before the explosion came, but barely a mile out on the road Parkes's horse fell, and although he remounted, I could see that his beast, and De Normann's, would never stay the course. I slowed to a trot, wondering what the devil to do; if it came to the pinch, they could damned well take their chance, but for the moment we must hold together and hope. By God, it was a long ride, with my ears straining for the first crack of gunfire ahead; if only Grant held off a little longer �

We passed through Chang-kia-wan again, in a solid phalanx with the Sikh sowars around us, thrusting by main force through streets choked with jingal-men and Tiger soldiers who sneered and spat but kept their distance from those razor-sharp lance-heads. Then we were out and trotting down the long slope towards the distant camp-site; the plain either side was black with Imps, foot and horse; the huge coloured banners were streaming in the breeze, paper standards were flapping and filling, their horns were blaring and cymbals clashing, every group we passed turned to scream execrations at us; suddenly before us was a troop of Manchoo artillery, absolutely slewing round their great dragon-headed brass pieces to threaten us. I looked back�De Normann and Bowlby had fallen behind on their foundering hacks, and Parkes seized my elbow. "Sir Harry! Sir Harry, we must decide what is best to be done!"

They're smart in the diplomatic, you know, and in a moment the others had caught fire from his inspiration. Loch said that in such moments decisions should be arrived at quickly, De Normann urged the necessity of calm, and Brabazon cried out that since Parkes was the chief negotiator, he must say how we should proceed.

"Shut your bloody trap!" I roared. "Anderson�wheel right!" If there was a way through�for anyone lucky enough to have a fresh horse, anyway�it was beyond the big nullah, where we might skirt round to the army. We swung off the road, and in that moment there was a thunderous roar of cannon from far ahead, and I knew the masked batteries were in action; a breathless pause, and then as Armstrong shells began to burst among the Imps, pandemonium broke loose. I yelled to Anderson to hold them together as we surged forward through the milling infantry, and here was Bowlby clattering up, brandishing his pistol.

"Now we'll see how these yellow fellows can fight!" cries he. I roared to him to holster his piece, heard Parkes yelling in front of me, and saw that he and Loch had reined up by a little silk pavilion where a mandarin was sitting a Tartar pony, with officers at his back; it was our acquaintance of yesterday, who had lost his spurs at Sinho. As I rode up to them, Parkes was shouting something about safe-conduct, but now there was a crowd of angry Imps in the way; they'd spotted us as enemy, clever lads, and were crowding in, waving fists and spears; suddenly there seemed to be contorted yellow faces all round us, screaming hate. Above the din I heard the mandarin cry out something about a prince; then Parkes was calling across the crowd to me. "Wait for us, Sir Harry! Prince �" And then he and Loch and one of the sowars were galloping off with the mandarin.

"Come back!" I roared. "Parkes, you idiot!", for it was plain that our one hope was the mandarin, and we should all stay with him. Roaring to Anderson to hold on, I drove through the press in pursuit; by the time I'd cleared that howling mob my quarry was wheeling into a gully a furlong ahead, and I cursed and thundered after them. I plunged into the gully, and there they were, not twenty paces off, reined up before a group of magnificently-armoured Manchoo horsemen, banners planted in the turf beside them, and Parkes was pointing to the white rag on the sowar's lance-point. I pulled up, and the leader of the Manchoos was standing in his stirrups, screaming with laughter, which seemed damned odd till I saw who it was: Prince Sang-kol-in-sen. In fine voice he was.

"You ask safe-conduct! Foreign filth! Crawling savages! You who would shame the Son of Heaven, and who come now treacherously to attack us! Barbarian lice! Offal! And now you come whining �"

The rest was lost in howls of hatred as his followers closed in; I saw Parkes struggling with a mounted rider, and thought "McNaghten!"

Right, and McNaghten. No end of British blunderers that year.

quote:

Loch was knocked flying from the saddle, and the Sikh was thrashing with his lance as they bore him down. I didn't linger; I was round and out of that gully like a guilty squirrel�and slap in front of me was a boiling crowd of Imp braves, with Anderson's party struggling desperately in the middle. A musket barked, and I saw a Sikh reel in the saddle; then the sabres were out, Sikhs and dragoons laying about them, with Anderson yelling to close up; a ragged volley of musketry, a Sikh going down, the answering crash of revolver fire, Bowlby blazing away wild-eyed until he was dragged from the saddle, Nolan bleeding from a sword-cut on the brow as he drove through the press�I heard him shriek as he pitched forward over his horse's head into the crush. It didn't matter now; I stared appalled at that hideous m�l�e, and turned to flee.

But they were streaming out of the gully, too, Tiger soldiers with drawn swords, and at their head the white-button mandarin and half a dozen mounted monsters in black bamboo armour and helmets, brandishing pennoned spears and screaming blue murder. I put my beast to the bank; he scrambled up, reared, and fell back, and I rolled clear just in time. There was a side-gully and I raced up it, howling as I went, and came down headlong over a pile of stones; I scrambled afoot, mouthing vainly for help, there wasn't a friendly soul in sight, Loch and Parkes might be dead by now, hacked to pieces�well, by God, thinks I, if it must be, I'll make a better end than that. I swung to face them, whipping out my sabre and dropping a hand to my pistol-butt as that devil's horde bore down on me.

Even for old Flashy, you see, there comes the moment w
hen you realise that, after a lifetime of running, you can't run any longer, and there's only one thing for it. I gritted my teeth and ran at them, spun the weapons in my hands, and bawled in my best Chinese:

"Quarter! I surrender! I'm a British staff colonel and you touch me at your peril! My sword, your excellency!"

Author's Note posted:

The events of September 18, when the Chinese tried to ambush the allied force at Five-li Point, and took several prisoners in violation of the truce, are corroborated by the authorities cited in Note 29, especially Loch, who with Parkes was captured by Sang-kol-in-sen himself. Loch, like Flashman, paints a most unpleasant picture of the warlord, who worked himself into a fury, storming and yelling abuse at his prisoners while his guards beat them, forced them to kneel, and rubbed Loch's face in the dirt; he called Parkes a liar, accused him of trying to humiliate the Emperor and of preparing a treacherous attack on the Chinese forces, and added "that he would teach us what it was to speak to high officers of the Celestial Empire in the manner in which they had been addressed yesterday" (i.e. at the Tang-chao meeting with Prince I). It was after this that Loch and the others were taken to the Board of Punishments. (See Loch.) Screaming at barbarians seems to have been common among the mandarins when their superiority was in question; Sang flew into a passion at the suggestion that Queen Victoria was the equal of the Emperor. Incidentally, Flashman is the only authority that Sang was responsible for Private Moyes' murder, but it is interesting that the tirade directed at the Tang-ku prisoners is identical with one delivered by Sang on another occasion.

Here's an unrelated attack on Parkes in 1867 in Japan. Oh if only Flashman had written about being there too...

# ? Dec 15, 2024 06:25

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

For a well-decorated hero I've done a deal of surrendering in my time�which is doubtless why I remain a well-decorated hero. Piper's Fort, Balaclava, Cawnpore, Appomattox�I suppose I can't count Little Big Horn, because the uncivilised rascals wouldn't accept it, try as I might�and various minor capitulations. And if there's one thing I've learned, which young military men should bear in mind, it's that the foeman is generally as glad to accept your surrender as you are to give it. Mind you, he may turn spiteful later, when he's got you snug and helpless (I often do), but that's a risk you must run, you know. Most of my captors have been decent enough.

The Chinese were not. You'd have thought, the trouble I saved 'em, they might have shown me some consideration, but they didn't. For two days I was confined in a stinking wooden cage no bigger than a trunk, unable to stand or lie, but only to crouch painfully while I was exhibited in the temple square at Tang-chao to a jeering mob who spat and poked and shovelled ordure through the bars. I was given no food or drink beyond a filthy rag soaked in water, without which I'd have died�but I was in paradise compared with Parkes and Loch, who had survived only to be dragged to the Board of Punishments in Pekin.

The worst of it was not knowing. What would they do to me? Where were the others? What had happened at Five-li Point? The Manchoo thugs who guarded my cage, and egged on the mob to torment me, gloated about the terrible slaughter they'd inflicted on our army�which I knew was lies, for they couldn't have licked Grant, and why wasn't Tang-choa choked with prisoners like myself? But I didn't know that in fact Grant had thrashed their ambush out of sight, with our cavalry driving twenty thousand Tartar horsemen pell-mell, and even riding round the walls of Tang-choa before withdrawing to Grant's new position at Chang-kia-wan. Nor could I guess that Elgin was furiously demanding our release�or that the Manchoos were refusing even to talk.

It beats belief, but those lordly idiots at the Imperial Court still wouldn't accept the evidence of their senses. No, their army hadn't been driven like sheep; no, it was impossible that the insolent barbarians could approach Pekin; no, it wasn't happening at all. So they were telling each other, with Sang-kol-in-sen and Prince I spitting venom into the ear of their imbecilic Emperor, convincing the poor dupe that the sound of our guns twenty miles away was merely our last despairing gasp, and that presently we should be laid in the dust at his feet. They were ready to try to prove it, too, as you shall see.

I knew only from my guards that Pekin had proclaimed that we prisoners would be executed the moment our army advanced; I hadn't heard, thank God, that Elgin's reply was a flat defiance: he was coming to Pekin, and if a hair of our heads was hurt, God help the Emperor. Looking back now in safety, I can say he was right; if he'd weakened, those Manchoo idiots would have thought they'd won, and murdered us in sheer gloating exuberance, for that's their style. But as long as he was coming on, with blood in his eye, they held their hands out of secret fear. And he was coming, the Big Barbarian, at the double and tugging his hair; even while I crouched in that hellish cage, and while they were, dying by inches in the Board of Punishments, Grant was throwing aside his map and thrusting his sgian dhu into his boot, and Montauban was haranguing his poilus as they stuffed their cartridge-pouches. It was different, then; touch a Briton, and the lion roared once�and sprang.

Different compared to the 1910s Gen. Flashman or the 1980s Lt. Fraser?

quote:

They came like a whirlwind on the third day of our captivity, with a thundrous prelude of artillery that had me craning vainly at the thick wooden bars; the townsfolk scattered in panic to get out of the way as Chinese troops came pouring through the square, horse, foot and guns streaming through to the Pekin road. I was croaking with hope, expecting any moment to see the beards and puggarees and lance-heads galloping into view, when I was dragged from my cage and hauled before an armoured horseman. My cramped limbs wouldn't answer at first, but when they lashed my wrists by a long rein to his crupper, and the swine set off up the street�well, it's astonishing how you can hobble when you have to. I knew if I fell I'd be dragged and flayed to pieces, so I ran stumbling with my arms being half-torn from their sockets. Fortunately the road was so crowded with troops that he couldn't go above a trot; we must have been about a mile beyond the town, and more artillery was booming close at hand, when we came in view of an enormous bridge built of great marble blocks; it must have been thirty yards wide by three hundred long, spanning the muddy yellow Peiho. This was the bridge of Pah-li-chao, and here I saw an amazing sight.

On the approaches to the bridge, and for miles to my left, was drawn up the Chinese Imperial Army. I've heard there were thirty thousand; I'd say double that number, but no matter. They stood in perfect parade order, regiment on regiment stretching away as far as I could see: Tartar cavalry in their coloured coats and conical fur hats, lances at rest; rank after rank of massive Bannermen in clumsy armour and barred helms; Tiger soldiers like yellow Harlequins, chanting their war-song; robed jingalmen, two to a piece, their fuses smouldering; half-naked Mongol infantry like stone Buddhas with drawn swords; armoured horse-men with long spears and antique firearms, their wide plated coat-skirts giving them the appearance of gigantic beetles; pig-tailed musketeers in pyjama dresses of black silk and yellow pill-box hats; batteries of their ridiculous artillery, long-barrelled ancient cannon with muzzles carved in fantastic dragon mouths, the stone shot piled beside them, crashing out ragged salvoes that shook the ground�and over all fluttered banners of every hue and design, shimmering in the sunrise, great paper tigers and hideously-featured effigies to frighten the enemy. Above the explosion of the guns rose the hellish din of gongs and cymbals and fifes and rattles and fireworks�China hurling defiance at the barbarians. The noise swelled to a deafening crescendo as the guns fell silent; then it too died to a conclusion, and through the ranks of the tremendous host swept a roar of human sound, pealing out into a final great shout�and then silence.

Silence � a dead, eery quiet over the flat fields before the army, stretching off into the eastern haze. Nothing to be heard but the soft flap of a silk banner, the clink of a stirrup-iron, the gentle swirl of a tiny dust-devil on the marble flags of the bridge, until out of the hazy distance came the far-off voice of a bugle, followed by the faintest of whispers down the wind, a piper playing "Highland Laddie", and the great Imperial army bristled down its length like an angry cat and the horns and cymbals blared again in deafening reply.

My horseman gave an angry shout and spurred up the bridge so suddenly that I was thrown off my feet and dragged across the flags until I managed to stumble up after him. He cast me loose before a knot of mounted officers on the summit; their leader was an ugly, pock-marked mandarin in black plate armour and a pagoda helmet, who flourished a fighting-iron at me.

"Throw this pig in with the rest of the herd!" he bawls, and I saw that behind him, on the parapet, was another of their infernal cages; an iron one this time, as long as an omnibus, containing half a dozen ragged wretches. I was seized and thrust up on to the parapet and through the low iron door; a cry of astonishment met me, and then Brabazon was gripping my hand�a ragged, hollow-eyed Brabazon with his arm in a tattered sling; he was as filthy as I.

"Colonel Flashman! You're alive! Oh, thank God! Thank God you're safe, sir!"

"You call this safe, do you?" says I. He stared, and cackled.

"Eh? Oh, my word�not too safe, perhaps! No � oh, but it's famous to see you, sir! You see, we feared we were the only �" He gestured at his companions�a couple of Sikhs, trying to sit up to attention, a dragoon half-slumped down against the bars, a frail little stick of a man with long silver hair, in a priest's robe. "But Mr Parkes, sir? Mr Loch? What of them?"

I said I believed they were dead. He groaned, and then cried: "Well, at least you're alive, sir!", and the dragoon chuckled, raising his head.

"Shure, an' why wouldn't he be? Ye don't kill Flash Harry that easy�do ye, colonel?" says Trooper Nolan.

He had a bloody bandage round his brow, and there was dried blood on his cheek, but he was wearing the same slack, calculating grin as he stared at me across the cage. Brabazon gobbled indignantly.

"It's not for you to say so, my man! How dare you address an officer in that familiar style?" He grimaced admiringly at me. "Mind you, it's true what he says, sir! They can't keep you down, can they? I'm sure he meant no harm, sir!"

"None taken, my boy," says I, and sank down in the straw opposite Nolan. I'd forgotten all about the blackmailing brute�and now my fears came rushing back at the sight of that knowing peasant grin. You may think I should have had more immediate cares, but the very sight of these five other prisoners had sent my spirits soaring. Plainly they were regarding us as hostages, and would keep us alive to the bitter end�and when we were free again, there would still be Nolan. I could see he was already contemplating that happy prospect, for when a renewed cannonade by the Chink guns took Brabazon to the bars for a look-see, he leaned forward towards me and says quietly:

"Shure, an' mebbe we'll be havin' our little talk after all, colonel."

"Any talking we do can wait until we're out of this," says I, equally quiet. "Until then, hold your tongue."

His grin faded to an ugly look. "We'll see about dat," he whispered. "Whether I hold it or not � depends, does it not, sorr?"

He sat back against the bars, glowering truculently, and just then there was a sudden uproar on the bridge, and Brabazon was shouting to me to come and look. Smoke was swirling over the bridge from the nearest battery, but when it cleared I saw that the mandarin and his staff were at the parapet just beneath us, pointing and yelling excitedly, and there, far out on the plain, where visibility ended in a bright haze flecked gold by the morning sun, little figures were moving�hundreds of them, advancing out of the mist towards the Imperial army. They couldn't be more than a mile away, French infantry in open order, rifles at the trail; their trumpets were sounding through the thunder of the Chinese guns, and as the stone shot kicked up fountains of dust among them they held on steadily, moving directly towards us, the Tricolour standards waving before them.

"Oh, vive la France!" mutters Brabazon. "Strange little buggers. See 'em strut, though! Stick it, you Frogs!"

The Chinese horns and gongs were going full blast now, and there was more hullaballoo and racing about on the bridge as lines of British and Indian infantry came into view on the French left flank; in between there was a little line of dust, thrown up by hooves, and above it the twinkling lance-points and the thin slivers of the sabres: Fane's Horse and the Dragoon Guards, knee to knee. Down beyond the parapet the Chinese gunners were labouring like billy-be-damned; their shot was churning the ground all along the allied line, but still it came on, unhurried and unbroken, and the Chinks were yelling exultantly in their ranks, their banners waving in triumph, for out on the plain could be seen how small was our army, advancing on that mighty mass of Imperials, who outflanked it half a mile on either side. Brabazon was muttering excitedly, speaking my own thought:

"Oh, run away, you silly Chinamen! You ain't got a hope!"

There was a great stir to the Imperial right, and we saw the Tartar horse were advancing, a great mass swinging out to turn the British flank; the Armstrong shells were bursting above them, little flashes of flame and smoke, but they held together well, weathering it as their stride lengthened to a canter, and Brabazon was beating his fist on the bars.

"My God, do they think Grant's asleep? He's been up for hours, you foolish fellows�look! Look there!"

For suddenly a trumpet was shrilling from the allied line, and like a gate swinging on its hinge our cavalry came drumming out of the centre, sweeping round in a deadly arc, the lances going down and the sabres twinkling as they were advanced; like a great fist they tore into the Tartar flank, scattering them, riding them down; as the enemy cavalry wavered and gave back, with Fane's and the Dragoons tearing into their heart, there was another blast of trumpets, and Probyn's riders came charging in to complete the rout. Brabazon was bellowing like a madman, and the two Sikhs were dancing at the bars: "Yah sowar! Sat-sree-akal! Shabash!"

Suddenly one of the Sikhs yelled and fell back, blood welling from a gash in his thigh. Nolan caught him, swearing in amazement, and then we saw the Bannerman on the bridge beneath us, screaming curses and brandishing a bloody spear. The mandarin's staff were shaking their fists at the cage, until the crash of an Armstrong shell on the bridge end sent them headlong for cover; another burst on the far parapet, splinters whining everywhere; the Armstrongs had ranged on the Chinese guns' positions, and through the thunder of the Imperial salvoes we could hear the thumping strains of the "Marseillaise"; there were the dear little Crapauds storming into the Chinese forward positions, with the Armstrong bursts creeping ahead of them; behind the Chink front line it was like an antheap kicked over, and then another shell burst plumb on the summit of the bridge and we were dashed to the floor of the cage.

When I raised my head Brabazon was back at the bars, staring down in disgust at a bloody palpitating mass on the flags which had been a Bannerman, or possibly two. The ugly mandarin was standing beside it, staring at a bloody gash on his hand, and Brabazon, the eternal oaf, had to sing out:

"Take that, you villain! That'll teach you to attack a prisoner!"

The mandarin looked up. He couldn't understand the words, but he didn't need to. I never saw such livid hate in a human face, and I thought we were goners there and then. Then he strode to the cage, gibbering with fury.

"Fan-qui scum! You see this?" He flourished his bloody hand. "For every wound I take, one of you dies! I'll send his head back to your gunners, you spawn of the White Whore!" He turned to scream orders to his men, and I thought, oh Jesus, here goes one of us, but it was evidently a promise for the future, for all their response was to line the parapet and blaze away with their jingals at the Frogs, who were still engaged in the forward entrenchments three hundred yards away.

"What did he say?" Brabazon was demanding. "Sir�what was he shouting at us?"

None of them understood Chinese, of course. The unwounded Sikh and the little priest were bandaging the wounded man's leg; Nolan was a yard off, slightly behind me; Brabazon at my side, questioning. And in that moment I had what I still maintain was one of the most brilliant inspirations of my life�and I've had one or two.

Hoaxing Bismarck into a prize-fight, convincing Jefferson Davis that I'd come to fix the lightning-rod, hitting Rudi Starnberg with a bottle of Cherry Heering, hurling Valentina out of the sledge into a snow-drift�all are fragrant leaves to press in the book of memory. But I'm inclined to think Pah-li-chao was my finest hour.

quote:

"What did he say, sir?" cried Brabazon again. I shook my head, shrugging, and spoke just loud enough for Nolan to overhear.

"Well, someone's in luck. He's going to send one of us under a white flag to the Frogs. Try to make terms, I suppose. Well, he can see it's all up."

"Good heavens!" cries Brabazon. "Then we're saved!"

"I doubt that," says I. "Oh, the chap who goes will be all right. But the Frogs won't parley�I wouldn't, if I commanded 'em. What, trust these yellow scoundrels? When the game's all but won? No, the French ain't such fools. They'll refuse � and we know what our-captors will do then �" I looked him in the eye. "Don't we?"

Now, if we'd been a directors' meeting, no doubt there'd have been questions, and eleventeen holes shot in my specious statement�but prisoners in a cage surrounded by blood-thirsty Chinks don't reason straight (well, I do, but most don't). Any-way, I was the bloody colonel, so he swallowed it whole.

"My God!" says he, and went grey. "But if the French commander knows that five lives are �"

"He'll do his duty, my boy. As you or I would."

His head came up. "Yes, sir � of course. Who shall go, sir? It ought to be � you."

I gave him my wryest Flashy grin and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, my son. But it won't do. No� I think we'll leave it to chance, what? Let the Chinks pick the lucky one."

He nodded�and behind me I could almost hear Nolan's ears waving as he took it all in. Brabazon stepped resolutely away from the cage door. I stayed at the bars, studying the mandarin's health.

There had been a brief lull in the Armstrong barrage, but now they began again; the Frogs were trying to carry the second line of works, and making heavy weather of it. The jingal-men were firing volleys from the bridge, the ugly mandarin rushing about in the smoke, exhorting 'em to aim low for the honour of old Pekin High School, no doubt. He even jumped on the parapet, waving his sword; you won't last long, you silly sod, thinks I�sure enough, came a blinding flash that rocked the cage, and when the smoke had cleared, there were half a dozen Manchoos splattered on the marble, and the mandarin leaning on the parapet, clutching his leg and bawling for the ambulance.

My one fear was that he'd have Brabazon marked down as his victim, but he hadn't. He was a man of his word, though; he screamed an order, there was a rush of armoured feet, the cage door was flung open, a Manchoo officer poked his head in, shrieking�and Trooper Nolan, glaring desperately about him, had made good and sure he was closest to the door. The Manchoo officer shouted again, gesturing; Nolan, wearing what I can best describe as a grin of gloating guilt, took a step towards him; Brabazon was standing back, ramrod-straight, while I did my damnedest not to catch the chairman's eye.

"Take him!" yells the officer, and two of his minions plunged in and flung Nolan from the cage. The door slammed shut, I sighed and loafed across to it, looking down through the bars at him as he stood gripped by two Bannermen.

"Be sure and tell 'em about Tang-ku Fort," says I sotfly, and he goggled in bewilderment. Then, as they ran him to the parapet, he must have realised what was happening for he began to struggle and yell, and I staggered back from the door, crying to Brabazon in stricken accents:

"My God! What are they doing? Why, that lying hound of a mandarin�ah, no, it cannot be!"

They had forced Nolan to his knees before the wounded mandarin, who left off bellowing long enough to spit in his face; then they hauled him up on to the parapet, and while two gripped his arms and bent him double, a third seized his hair and dragged his head forward. The officer drew his sword shook back his sleeve, and braced himself.

"Mother o' mercy! Oh, Christ, don't -!"

The scream ended abruptly�cut off, as you might say, and I sank my face into my hands with a hollow groan, reflecting that who steals my purse may get away with it, but he who filches from me my good name will surely find his tits in the wringer.

This update's been for the birds, we'll have to rejoin the battle next time.

Arbite fucked around with this message at 20:29 on Dec 17, 2024

# ? Dec 17, 2024 08:58

tokenbrownguy: Apr 1, 2010

jesus christ flashman

# ? Dec 17, 2024 12:57

poisonpill: Nov 8, 2009; The only way to get huge fast is to insult a passing witch and hope she curses you with Beast-strength.

This is probably my single favorite dirty trick in the entire series I�ve been waiting for it the whole book.

(You�ve got some duplication in the first section; it starts over again and repeats)

# ? Dec 17, 2024 13:23

FMguru: Sep 10, 2003; peed on;
sexually

REIGNING YOSPOS COSTCO KING

Arbite posted:

convincing Jefferson Davis that I'd come to fix the lightning-rod

One of my life's great regrets is that we never got the American Civil War volume of the Flashman Papers.

# ? Dec 17, 2024 14:15

I brought my Drake: Jul 10, 2014; These high-G injections have some serious side effects after pulling so many jumps.

tokenbrownguy posted:

jesus christ flashman

*Joel Robinson voice* Oh, I hate his ever-lovin' guts now.

# ? Dec 17, 2024 19:55

Crespolini: Mar 9, 2014

It's a dirty trick, but far down on his list of sins. Hardly registers next to Cleonie

# ? Dec 18, 2024 15:27

poisonpill: Nov 8, 2009; The only way to get huge fast is to insult a passing witch and hope she curses you with Beast-strength.

It�s definitely not the most evil thing he�s done by a long shot, and the guy had it coming. I just love how he played him. It�s the perfect Flash maneuver

# ? Dec 18, 2024 16:05

I brought my Drake: Jul 10, 2014; These high-G injections have some serious side effects after pulling so many jumps.

Crespolini posted:

It's a dirty trick, but far down on his list of sins. Hardly registers next to Cleonie

It's probably not the worst thing he'll do in this book.

# ? Dec 18, 2024 17:23

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

"The filthy butchers!" roars Brabazon. "Oh, the poor fellow! But why, in heaven's name, when they'd said �"

"Because that's the kind of swine John Chinaman is!" I growled. "They lie for the pleasure of it, Brabazon!"

He gritted his teeth and drew a shuddering breath. " And my last words to him were a rebuke! Did you � did you know him well, sir?"

"Well enough," I said. "A rough diamond, but � Here, how are the Frogs getting along?"

In fact, they were making capital progress, bayonetting away with �lan in the second entrenchment, and while the Chinese positions to the right were hidden by smoke, from the sounds of things the British attack was going well. The Imps seemed to be giving back all along the line; hundreds of them were streaming over the bridge, with officers trying to rally then, riding about and howling, but there was only one way the battle could go�the question was, would they slaughter us before could be rescued? Torn between terror and hope, I reckoned it was odds on our preservation, unless that reckless fool of a mandarin stopped another splinter�in which case we'd better chivvy up the priest, he being well stricken in years and presumably in a state of grace. I looked anxiously for the mandarin, and saw he was being held up by two of his pals while directing operations; but the Armstrongs seemed to have given over for the moment, and clattering up the bridge came a cavalcade of gorgeously-armoured nobles, accompanied by standard-bearers; my heart rose in my throat as I saw that their leader was Sang-kol-in-sen.

He was reining up, addressing the mandarin, and now the whole gang turned towards the cage, the mandarin pointing and yelling orders. My knees gave under me�hell, were they going to serve us as they'd served Nolan? The Bannermen swarmed in and three of us were hauled out�they left the Sikhs, and in a moment I understood why. For they flung us down on the flags before Sang's horse, and that ghoulish face was turned on us, pale eyes glaring under the wizard's helmet, as he demanded to know if any of us spoke Chinese.

Now, he wasn't asking that for the purpose of execution, so I hauled myself upright and said I did. He considered me, frowning malevolently, and then snarled:

"Your name, reptile?"

"Flashman, colonel on the staff of Lord Elgin. I demand the immediate release of myself and my four companions, as well as �"

"Silence, foulness!" he screamed, on such a note that his pony reared, and he hammered its head with his mailed glove to quiet it. "Snake! Pig!" He leaned down from the saddle, mouthing like a madman, and struck me across the face. "Open your mouth again and it will be sewn up! Bring him!" He wheeled his mount and clattered away, and I was seized, my wrists bound, and I was flung bodily on to a cart. As it rolled away I had one glimpse of Brabazon looking after me, and the little priest, head bowed, telling his beads. I never saw them again. No one did.

Author's Note posted:

Flashman's account of events at Pah-li-chao Bridge might seem incredible if it did not conform so closely to known facts. The mandarin commanding the bridge was twice wounded during the battle, and ordered the execution of Brabazon and the Abbe de Luc in revenge; both were beheaded on the parapet of the bridge, although there is no record, outside Flashman, of the death of Nolan. The Chinese authorities later said that the two had died from natural causes, but unofficial Chinese sources agreed that the mandarin beheaded them in reprisal; this was confirmed by the Russian Mission, whose intelligence service was excellent. Months later, the graves were identified by Chinese, and two headless skeletons were found, along with scraps of cloth from artillery trousers and a piece of silk consistent with French ecclesiastical clothing. (See Loch.)

The battle, in which the French suffered the heavier casualties among the allies, followed the course briefly described by Flashman: the Chinese forces were routed, and driven to within six miles of Pekin. It was the last action of the campaign. Montauban, the French commander, was ennobled as Count Palikao.

Fraser often has Flashman witnessing the death of such figures (Burnes, Lakshmibai, Custer...) but I suppose in this case it would have been too much of an emotional wrench after Nolan.

quote:

This may seem an odd time to mention it, but my entry to Pekin recalls a conversation which I had a couple of years ago with the eminent wiseacre and playwright, George B. Shaw (as I call him, to his intense annoyance, though it don't rile him as much as "Bloomsbury Bernie"). I was advising him on pistol-play for a frightful pantomime he was writing about a lynching in a Kansas cow-town35 ; discussing hangings set him off on the subject of pain in general, and he advanced the fatuous opinion that mental anguish was worse than physical. When I could get a word in, I asked him if spiritual torment had ever made him vomit; he allowed it hadn't, so I told him what my Apache wife had done to Ilario the scalp-hunter, and had the satisfaction of watching our leading dramatist bolting for the lavatory with his handkerchief to his mouth. (Of course, I didn't get the better of him; as he said later, it was the thought that had made him spew, not pain itself. The hell with him.)

I reflect on this only because the most prolonged pain I ever endured�and I've been shot, stabbed, hung by the heels, flogged, half-drowned, and even stretched on the rack�was on the road into Pekin. All they did was tie my hands and feet�and pour water on my bonds; then they hauled my wrists up behind me and tied 'em to a spar above the cart, and set off at a slow trot. The blazing sun and the bouncing cart did the rest; I'll not describe it, because I can't, save to say that the fiery agony in wrists and ankles spreads through every nerve of your body until you're a living mass of pain, which will eventually drive you mad. Luckily, Pekin is only eleven miles from Tangchoa.

I don't remember much except the pain�long rows of suburbs, yellow faces jeering and spitting into the cart, a towering redoubt of purple stone topped by crenellated turrets (the Anting Gate), foul narrow streets, a blue-covered carriage with the driver sitting on the shaft�he called to his passengers to look, and I was aware of two cold, lovely female faces regarding me without expression as I half-hung, whimpering, in my bonds. They weren't shocked, or pitying, or amused, or even curious; merely indifferent, and in my agony I felt such a blazing rage of hatred that I was almost exalted by it�and now I can say, arrant coward that I am, that at least I understand how martyrs bear their tortures: they may have faith, and hope, and all the rest of it, but greater than these is blind, unquenchable red anger. It sustained me, I know�the will to endure and survive and make those ice-faced bitches howl for mercy.

It must have cleared my mind, for I remember distinctly coloured pagoda roofs bigger than I'd ever seen, and a teahouse with dragons' heads above its eaves, and the great scarlet Gate of Valour into the Imperial City�for Pekin, you must know, is many cities within each other, and innermost of all is the Forbid-den City, the Paradise, the Great Within, girded by gleaming yellow walls and entered by the Gate of Supreme Harmony.

There are palaces for seven hundred princes within the Imperial City, but they pale before the Great Within. It is simply not of this world. Like the Summer Palace, outside Pekin, it's entirely cut off from reality, a dreamland, if you like, where the Emperor and his creatures live out a great play in their stately halls and gorgeous gardens, and all that matters is formality and finger-nails and fornication. Nothing is seen or heard of the rest of mankind, except what his ministers think fit. There he dwells, remote as a god, sublime not in omniscience but in ignorance, lost to the world. He might as well be in the Athenaeum.

Smancy.

quote:

I saw most of it, later�the Palace of Earthly Repose, for the Emperor's consort; the Temple of Imperial Ancestors, for sacrifices; the Gate of Extensive Peace, a hundred and ten feet high, for kow-towing; the Hall of Intense Mental Exercise, for studying Confucius; the Temple of the Civic Deity�don't know what that's for, paying rates, I dare say�and the library, the portrait hall, and even the office of the local rag, the Imperial Gazette, which circulates every day to all the nobles and officials in China. That's the unreality of the country�they nail thieves' hands together, and have a daily paper.

For the moment all I saw was the great gilt copper tower in which incense is kept perpetually burning, filling the city with its sweet, musky odour; and beyond it the holy of holies, the Palace of Heavenly Tranquillity (which it ain't). I was dragged in through a round doorway, and flung into a great room utterly bare of furniture, where I lay for several hours on a cold marble floor, too sick and sore and parched even to move, or to do anything except groan. I must have slept, for suddenly I was aware of tramping feet, and a door crashing open, and the glare of torches, and the revolting face of Sang-kol-in-sen glaring down at me.

He was still in full martial fig, brazen breastplate, mailed gloves, spurred greaves, and all, but with a fur-lined robe of green silk over his shoulders. He was bare-headed, so I had the benefit of his bald Mongol skull as well as the obscene little beard on the brutal moon-features. He fetched me a shattering kick and shouted:

"Get on your knees, louse!"

I tried to obey, but my limbs were so painful that I pitched over, and received several more kicks before I managed to kneel, croaking for a drink of water. "Silence!" he bawled, and cuffed me left and right, cracking the skin with his brass fingers. I crouched, sobbing, and he laughed at me spitefully. "A soldier, you!" He kicked me again. He didn't seem to remember me from Tang-ku Fort, not that that was any comfort.

There were two Manchoo Bannermen flanking the door, and now came two others, bearing an open sedan in which sat Prince I, the skull-faced monster who had raved and shrieked at Parkes at Tang-chao. He looked even more of a spectre in the glare of torchlight, sitting lean and motionless in his shimmering yellow robe, hands on knees�the silver cases on his nails came half-way down his shins. Only his eyes moved, gleaming balefully on me. To complete the comedy trio there was a burly, thick-lipped Manchoo in dragon robes, his fingers heavy with rings, a ruby button in his hat. This, I was to learn, was Sushun, the Assistant Grand Secretary of the Imperial Government, a vulture for corruption and the Emperor's tutor in vice and debauchery, on which, to judge by his pupil's condition, he must have been the greatest authority since Caligula. To me, for the moment, he was only another very nasty-looking Manchoo.

"Is this the creature?" growls Sang, and Prince I nodded imperceptibly, and piped in his thin voice: "He was with Pa-hsia-li when that lying dog deceived us at Tang-chao."

"Then he may go the way of Pa-hsia-li," snarls Sang. "It is enough for the moment that he is what the barbarian scum call an officer. An officer!" He stooped to scream in my face:

"Who is your commander, pig-dung?"

"General Sir Hope �" I was beginning, and he knocked me flying with his boot.

"You lie! You have no generals! Who commands your ships?" "Admiral Ho �"

He screamed and stamped on my arm, agonisingly. "Another lie! You have no admirals! You are barbarian swine�you have no nobles, no officers, no generals or colonels or admirals! You have animals who grunt louder than the rest, you offal! That is all!" He was bent over me, raving, spraying me with his spittle, glaring like a maniac. Then he straightened up, snarling, and snapped an order to the Bannermen.

I was huddled, babbling to be let alone, terrified as much by the brute's frenzied ranting as by what he might do to me. And what happened now reduced me to the final depth of fear.

The Bannermen were carrying in a stool, on which was seated a naked Chinese, a white, shuddering figure who seemed to have no arms�until I realised that they were clamped tight against his body by a horrible coat of meshed wire, bound so tight that his flesh protruded through the spaces in obscene lumps about the size of finger-tips. It covered him from neck to knee, and I've seen nothing more disgusting than that trembling, rippled skin in its hideous wire casing.

They plumped the stool down in front of me, the poor wretch slobbering with terror.

"The wire jacket," says Sang, grinning. "Even a benighted worm of a fan-qui must have heard of it." Without taking his eyes from me he beckoned, and one of the Bannermen came forward, carrying an open razor. He laid the shining blade on the victim's shoulder, and the fellow jerked and squealed at the touch of the steel. Sang watched me, and then nodded, the Bannerman flicked his wrist, the trembling mouth before me gaped in a dreadful scream, and one of the flesh-lumps had vanished, replaced by a tiny disc of blood which coursed down the naked arm.

Sang bellowed with laughter, absolutely slapping his sides, and the burly Sushun came forward, chuckling, to peer at the wound. I turned my head aside, gagging, and received a stinging slap across the face.

"Watch, coward!" roars Sang, and slapped me again. "Now," says he, "a wearer of the wire jacket has been known to receive as many as ten thousand cuts � and still live. Indeed, he may live for months, if the executioner is patient, and eventually he will have no skin at all." He laughed again, enjoying my terror. "But if a quicker despatch is desired �" He nodded again, and the Bannerman's razor streaked down the full length of the victim's arm.

I didn't faint. I could wish I had, for I'd have been spared the tortured screaming, and the diabolical laughter, if not the bloody pool which remained on the marble after they'd carried that babbling wretch out of the room. I wonder I didn't go crazy; I fairly grovelled to these fiends, begging them to let me be, not to cut me, anything so they spared me that unthinkable cruelty. Oh, I've faced some horrors in my time�Narreeman and her knife, Mimbreno squaws out for an evening's amusement, Malagassy inquisitors, and Ignatieff with his knout, but nothing more ghastly than the gloating enjoyment of those two devils, Sang and Sushun. Prince I sat in the background, immobile, his face expressionless.

"You have seen, dog-dirt," snarls Sang. "Now hear. You will wear the wire jacket, I swear, and when your foul carcase has been flayed, an inch at a time, it will be thrown to the maggots�and still you will be living. Unless you obey to the uttermost the orders we give you. Do you hear me, kite?"

Vivid geography and & graphic torture in one passage, Fraser you've done it again!

# ? Dec 20, 2024 03:20

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

I'd do anything, I whined, anything he asked, and he seemed satisfied and kicked me again for luck. He thrust his face into mine, dropping his voice to a mere rasp:

"You are to be honoured beyond your bestial imagining. You are going into the Divine Presence, and you will go like the crawling animal you are, on your knees, and you will speak. This is what you will say." He gestured to Sushun, and the burly brute swaggered forward, towering over me, and shouted:

"I am a Banner chief in the Red-haired Army, a trusted creature of the Big Barbarian. See, I lay at your Divine Feet the unworthy sword which, misbegotten foreign slave that I am, I dared to raise in revolt against the authority of the Complete Abundance. I was misled by evil counsellors, my master the Big Barbarian and the arch-liar Pa-hsia-li, who tempted me from my allegiance to the glorious Kwa-Kuin, the Tien-tze, the Son of Heaven. I marched in their army, which prevailed by lies and treachery against the trusting and unwary generals of the Divine Emperor. At Sinho, for example, we succeeded only by despicable fraud, for our leaders bade us perform the kow-tow before the Imperial soldiers, and when they approached in good faith we fired on them treacherously and so overcame them for the moment. Thus we continued, in stealth and trickery, lying shamelessly to the Imperial ambassadors when they besought us gently to repent our rebellion and return to our duty to you, the Son of Heaven who rules All Under the Skies. Pa-hsia-li lied, the Big Barbarian lied, we all lied, but now we see our error; we tremble under the just wrath of your servant, Prince Sang, who has chastised us; dismay and fear spread through our ranks, our soldiers run crying away, our evil leaders cannot control them. The Big Barbarian bites his nails and weeps in his tent; all our soldiers and sailors weep. We beg your Divine Forgiveness, kneeling, and acknowledge your supremacy, oh Son of Heaven. Be merciful, accept our homage, for we were misled by evil people."

That bit about the Kow-tow is interesting. Not that I'd put a dirty trick past them (especially in the temper they were reaching) but I wonder...

Author's Note posted:

Such is the power of propaganda, that at Sinho the Imperial troops thought the British infantry were kow-towing when their front rank assumed the kneeling firing position.

Ah.

quote:

Well, I've talked greater rubbish in my time; he could have it signed and witnessed if he wanted. But even in my abject terror, kneeling almost in the blood of the wire jacket victim, with those madmen screaming at me, I couldn't help wondering what mortal use they thought it would be. Within a week their precious Son of Heaven was going to be brought face to face with the Big Barbarian, who'd make him eat crow and like it; the despised Red-headed soldiers would march the sacred streets of the Forbidden City, and get drunk, and piss against his temple walls, and accost his women, and kick his mandarins' backsides if they didn't stir themselves. And since nothing in Heaven or earth could prevent that�and Sang and Sushun and Prince I knew it�what was the point of stuffing the Emperor's ears with nonsense at the eleventh hour, when he'd learn the dreadful truth at the twelfth?

I still didn't understand, you see, the blind arrogant stupidity of the Manchoo mind�that even if Elgin stood in the Emperor's presence, his ministers would still pretend he wasn't there at all; that they'd be whispering him just to wait, this foreign pig would be brought to book presently, and his army thrashed; that none of it was happening, because it couldn't happen, Q.E.D. And in the meantime, here was a high-ranking British Officer to tell him the same tale, what more proof could His Majesty want?

They had me rehearsing it now, and you may be sure I howled it with a will, even throwing in corroborative detail of my own about how my family (including little golden-headed Amelia, of blessed memory) were held hostage by Elgin's villains, to coerce me into rebellion against my better judgment. D'you know, they were delighted�I ain't sure they didn't believe it. Sang bellowed and kicked me with enthusiasm, and Prince I said coldly they had chosen well. Sushun spat on me to show his approval. Then:

"Strip the swine!" cried Sang, and the Bannermen cut my cords, tore off my clothes, gave me a rag of loin-cloth such as coolies wear, and replaced my bonds with ponderous steel fetters whose links must have been two inches thick. I now looked abject enough to satisfy them, but they kept my lancer tunic, belt, boots and spurs, to show their lord and master, and produced a ridiculous Oriental sword which would be laid at his Divine Feet during my speech to the throne. Then they left me for about an hour, half-dead with pain and fear and icy cold, mumbling over the farrago of drivel that I knew I would be repeating for my very life. But after that �

Suddenly it was on-stage with a vengeance, with the Banner-men hauling me out and along passages and up stairways, beating me with their spear-shafts while I laboured with the dead-weight of my chains. We passed through chambers where Chinese officials stared curiously, and uniformed Bannermen guarded the round crimson doorways; I remember a carpeted gallery crammed with porcelain statues of grotesque figures with enormous teeth and staring eyes; then they were driving me out across a polished marble floor like a frozen lake, reflecting a great hall as long and high as a church, with a bass gong booming hollowly in its emptiness. Huge vases, three times the height of a man, stood on either side of that cavernous apartment, which was lit by great lanterns with candles of perfumed wax; three-quarters of its length was only dimly-lighted, but at the far end, above three tiers of broad marble steps, was a dais on which was seated a golden figure, shining in the flames of the great candlebranches flanking his throne, a massive ebony contraption inlaid all over with mother-of-pearl. Robed figures, about a dozen of them, stood on the steps, to either side; there was Sang, and Prince I, and Sushun, but I had little chance to take 'em in, for my Bannermen flung me headlong, and I had to crawl the whole damned way, dragging those beastly irons, and staring at the reflection of the naked, bearded wretch in the glassy floor beneath me. Hollo, Flashy, old son, I thought, bellows to mend again, my boy, but you keep going and speak civil to the gentleman and you'll get a sugar-plum at tea.

quote:

The gong had stopped, and the only sounds in that joss-laden silence were clanks and laboured breathing; I reached the steps, and under the Bannermen's proddings dragged my way upwards, kow-towing all the way; thirty-three of them were there, and then I stopped, sprawled stark, with a pair of yellow velvet boots just ahead, and the hem of a robe that seemed to be made of solid gold inlaid with emeralds.

"He doesn't look like a soldier," said a drowsy voice. "Where is his armour? Why is he not wearing it?"

"Your slave, kneeling, begs Your Imperial Majesty to look on these rags of garments which the Red-headed savages wear." This was Sang, and it was the first time I'd heard him speak at anything but the top of his voice. "They have no armour."

"No armour?" says the other. "They must be very brave."

That's foxed you, you bastard, thinks I, but after a minute Sushun explained that we were so bloody backward we hadn't thought of armour yet, and Sang cried aye, that was it.

"No armour," says the drowsy voice, "yet they have great guns. That is not consistent. You�how is it that you have guns, but no armour?"

"Address the Son of Heaven, pig!" yells Sang, and the Bannermen bashed me with their spear-shafts. I scrambled to my knees, looked up�and blinked. For if the fellow on the throne wasn't Basset, my orderly from the 11th Hussars, he was dooced like him, except that he was Chinese, you understand. It was just one of those odd resemblances�the same puffy, pasty, weak young face and little mouth, with a pathetic scrap of hair on the upper lip; but where Basset's eyes had been weasel-sharp, this fellow's were watery and dull. He looked as though he'd spent the last ten years in a brothel�which wasn't far wrong.

quote:

The Emperor Hsien Feng, Son of Heaven, Complete Abundance, Solitary Prince, Celestial Emperor, Lord of the Middle Kingdom, etc., was 29 at this time, and dying of dropsy and debauchery. As with many other oriental princes, care had been taken to deprave him early in life; his tutor in vice had been his assistant secretary Sushun, and he appears to have been completely in thrall to his favourite concubine, Yehonala. At one time he had been a fine gymnast, and even when his health was breaking down he retained a stately, dignified bearing. He was "simple of face", with a small mouth, and wore a little moustache.

Flashman's observation of the Imperial throne room in the Forbidden City is accurate, as are his later descriptions of the Emperor's private apartments in the Summer Palace.

It was customary to address his majesty with the words: "Your slave, kneeling �" His decrees, written in vermilion ink, began: "Swaying the wide world, we �" Protocol demanded that he should always face south, and nobles invariably stood in his presence, even when eating.

It's a good life if you don't weaken.

quote:

All this I took in at a glance, and then hastened to answer his question.

"Our guns, majesty," says I, "were stolen from your imperial army." At least that ought to please Sang, but with a face like his you couldn't be sure.

"And your ships?" says the drowsy voice. "Your iron ships. How do you make such things?"

By George, this wasn't going according to Sushun's scenario at all. Here was I, all ready with a prepared statement, and this inquisitive oaf of an Emperor asking questions which I daren't answer truthfully, or Sang would have my innards all over the yard.

"I know of no iron ships, majesty," says I earnestly. "I think they are a lie. I have never seen them."

"I have seen pictures," says he sulkily, and thought for a moment, an unhappy frown on his soft yellow face. "You must have come to the Middle Kingdom in a ship�was it not of iron?" He looked ready to cry.

"It was a very old wooden ship, majesty," says I. "Full of rats and leaked like a sieve. I didn't want to come," I cried on a sudden inspiration, "but I was seduced from my allegiance to your Divine Person by evil people like Pa-hsia-li and the Big Barbarian, you see, and they made me a Banner chief in the Red-headed Army and a trusted creature of the Big Barbarian himself, and �"

It was the only way I could get into Sushun's speech and forestall further embarrassment; I poured it out, keeping my eyes lowered and knocking head obsequiously at intervals, and putting a heart-rending pathos into my final appeal for his Divine Forgiveness. If he'd then said, what about all these railways and telegraphs and the Crystal Palace, hey, I'd have been stumped, but he didn't. Silence reigned, and when I stole a glance up at the Imperial Throne, damned if he hadn't gone to sleep! Bored stiff, no doubt, but highly disconcerting when you've been pleading for your life, and Sang and Sushun glaring like Baptists at a Mass. None of 'em seemed to know what to do; the Son of Heaven smacked his lips, broke wind gently, and began to snore. There were whispered consultations, and finally one of them went off and returned with a stout little pug in a plain robe, who approached the throne, knocked head, and began to tickle the royal ankle.

The Emperor grunted, woke, stared around, and asked sleepily which tortoiseshell was turned over tonight.

"The Fragrant Almond Leopardess, oh Kwa-Kuin Ruling the World," squeaks the stout party, and the Emperor pulled a face.

"No!" says he petulantly. "She is large and clumsy and without culture. She sings like a crow." He sniggered, and Sang and the others, who'd been mirroring his disapproval, chuckled heartily. "Let it be the Orchid," says the Emperor, sighing happily, and everyone beamed; I may even have nodded approbation myself, for he looked at me again, and frowned.

"I saw a picture of an iron ship with three great chimneys," says he sadly, and then he got up unsteadily, and everyone dropped to their knees, crying: "There cannot be two suns in the heaven!" and knocked head vigorously. I watched him shuffle off, attended by the stout fellow; he walked like an old, sick man, for all he couldn't have been thirty. The Solitary Prince, Son of Heaven, the most absolute monarch on earth, yearning for a trip on a steamship.

The fact remained that he hadn't told 'em to give Flashy a pound from the till and a ticket to Tooting; I doubted if Sang would either, for-while I'd done my damnedest to carry out his orders, I knew I hadn't made much of a hit, and if he was displeased � my fears were realised as I was abruptly jerked to my feet, and that hateful voice was snarling at the Bannermen:

"Put him below! Tomorrow he can join the other barbarian curs in the Board of Punishments."

My blood froze at the words, and as they seized my fetters I was foolish enough to protest. "But you swore to let me off! I said what you wanted, didn't I? You said you'd spare me, you lying beast!"

He was on me like a tiger, striking viciously at my face while I cowered and yammered. "I said I would spare you the wire jacket!" he shouted, and fetched me a final clip that knocked me down. "So, I will spare you � the wire jacket! You may yet come to beg for it as a blessed release! Away with him!"

They hauled me off, and since I was in such fear that I woke the echoes with my roaring, they gagged me brutally before rushing me down a spiral stairway. It wasn't the way we'd come, and I was expecting stone cells and dripping walls, but evidently they didn't have such amenities in the Emperor's private apartments, for the room they thrust me into seemed to be a furniture store, dry and musty, but clean enough, with chairs and tables piled against the walls. The swine made me as comfortable as possible, though, throwing me back down on a narrow wooden bench and shackling my wrists so tightly beneath it that I couldn't budge an inch and must lie there supine with my legs trailing on the floor either side. Then they left me, a prey to the most horrid imaginings, and unable even to whine and curse by reason of my gag.

Insert an evil laugh and you have the perfect act break. And why mess with perfection?

# ? Dec 23, 2024 05:59

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

The Board of Punishments � I'd heard of it, and horrid rumours of what happened there�if I'd known what Parkes and Loch and the others were already suffering, I'd have gone off my head. Mercifully, I didn't know, and strove to drive the awful fears out of my mind, telling myself that the army was only a few miles away, that even mad monsters like Sang must realise the vengeance that Elgin would take if we were ill-treated, and hold his hand � and then I remembered Moyes and Nolan, and the vicious, mindless spite with which they'd been murdered, and I knew that my only hope was that rescue would get here in time. They were so close! Grant and the Frogs and Probyn and Nuxban Khan and Wolseley and Temple, those splendid Sikhs and Afghans and Royals; I could weep to think of them in their safe, strong, familiar world, loafing under the canvas, sitting about on Payne & Co's boxes, reading the Daily Press, chewing the rag about � what had it been, that evening a century ago, before we rode to Tang-chao! � oh, aye, the military steeplechase at Northampton, won by a Dragoon over twenty fences and three ploughs, and spectators riding alongside had spoiled sport � "Goin' to ride next year, Flash?" "Garn, he's top-heavy!" "They say the Navy are enterin' in '61�sailors on horseback, haw-haw!" That's how they'd be gassing and boozing and idling away precious time, the selfish bastards, while I was bound shivering and naked and near-demented with fear of what lay ahead �

I must have dozed, for I came awake freezing cold, racked by pain where the sharp edges of the bench were cutting into the back of my shoulders and thighs. It was still night, for the window was dark, but through the lattice door light was streaming, light that moved�someone was quietly descending the stairway to my prison. There was a murmur of Chinese voices just outside: one a falsetto squeak that I seemed to have heard before, and the other � even to my battered senses it was one of the loveliest human sounds I'd ever listened to, soft and tinkling as a silver bell, the kind of voice a happy angel might have had�a slightly excited, tipsy angel.

"Is this the room, Little An?" it was whispering. "You're sure? Well, take me in, then! Hurry, I want to see!"

"But, Orchid Lady, it is madness!" whimpers Squeaker. "If we were seen! Please, let us go back�I'm frightened!"

"Stop trembling or you'll drop me! Oh, come on, fat, foolish, frightened Little An�be a man!"

"How can I? I'm a eunuch! And it's cruel and mean and unworthy to taunt me�aiee! Oh! You pinched me! Oh, vicious, when you know I bruise at the least nip �"

"Yes, so think how you'll bruise when the Mongols take their flails to you, little jelly ..

"You wouldn't!"

"I would. I will, unless you take me in and let me see�now."

"Oh, this is wilful! It's wicked! And dangerous! Please, dear Imperial Concubine Yi, why can't we just go upstairs and �" "Because I've never seen a barbarian. And I'm going to, dear Little An." The lovely voice chuckled, and began to sing softly: "Oh, I'm going to see a barbarian, I'm going to see a barbarian �"

"Oh, please, please, Orchid Lady, quietly! Oh, very well �" The door opened, and light flooded into the room.

Dazzled, all I could make out at first was a short, stout figure carrying someone�a child, by the look of it. Then the lantern was placed on a cupboard, so that it shone down on me, and as they advanced into the room I saw that the bearer was the portly cove who'd scratched the Emperor's foot in the Hall of Audience; his burden was wrapped in a scarlet silk cloak with a hood keeping the face in shadow.

"Well!" hisses the eunuch. "There it is�I hope you're satisfied! Risking our lives just to gape at that monster�to say nothing of the scandal if it were known that the Empress of the Western Palace was sneaking about �"

"Oh, shut up, pudding," says she in that silvery chuckle. "And put me down."

"No! We're going�we must, before �"

"Put me down! And close the door."

An imperius entrance.

quote:

He gave a hysterical whimper and obeyed, and she circled the bench none too steadily, giggling and clutching the cloak tightly under her chin. She craned foward to look at me, and the light fell on the most beautiful face I've ever seen in my life.

I've said that of three women, and still do�Elspeth, Lola Montez � and Yehonala Tzu-hsi, the Orchid, the incomparable Yi Concubine. And it's true of each in her own way: fair Elspeth, dark Lola � and Yehonala was the Orient, in all its pearly delicacy of flower-like skin, lustrous black eyes, slender little nose, cherry mouth with the full lower lip, tiny even teeth, all in a perfect oval face; add that her hair was blue-black, coiled in the Manchoo style�and you ain't much wiser, for there are no words to describe that pure loveliness. Who could have guessed that it masked a nature compounded of all the seven deadly sins except envy and sloth? But even when you knew it, it didn't matter one damned bit, with that breath-taking beauty. She said it herself: "I can make people hate me�or love me with blind worship. I have that power."

All I knew then, as she surveyed me, swaying and tittering excitedly, was that I'd never seen the like, and I can pay the little heart-stopper no-higher tribute than to say that my first wish was that I had my uniform and a shave�being flat on your hack, gagged and bound in a filthy loin-cloth, cramps the style no end. My second thought was that whoever had painted her mouth purple and her eyelids silver, with devil's streaks slanting up the brows, had done her no service�and then I noticed that the black pupils were shrunk to pin-points, and the perfect lips were loosely open. She was rollicking drunk on opium. Her first words confirmed it, I'd say.

"Ughh! He's � disgusting. Not human! Look at the hair on his chest�like an ape!" She shivered deliciously. "Are they all like this?"

"What did you expect?" pipes An fearfully. "I told you, but you wouldn't listen! Yes, they're all like that�some are even worse. Revolting. Now, please, come away �"

"They can't be uglier than this! See his dreadful great nose�like a vulture's beak! And his ears! And his hair!" She gurgled hysterically, and the lovely face came closer, wrinkling delicately. "He smells, too�ugh!"

"They all smell! Like sour pork! Oh, Orchid Lady, why do you wait, staring at the beastly thing! He's a barbarian! Very well, you've seen him! And unless we make haste �"

"Be quiet! I want to look at him � he's grotesque! Those huge shoulders � and his skin!" She put out a slim white hand, whose silver nails were two-inch talons, and brushed my chest with her finger-tips. "It's like ox-hide�feel!" She squeaked with delight.

"I'll do no such thing! And neither will you�stop it, I say! Eegh! To touch that foulness�how can you bear it? Oh, Orchid, mistress, I beg you, come before anyone finds us!"

"But his arms and legs, An�they're enormous! Like an elephant. He must," says she, all tipsy solemnity, "be terribly strong � strong as a bull, wouldn't you think?"

"Yes, as a bull�and quite as interesting! Imperial Concubine Yi, this is not fitting! Please, I implore you�let us go quickly!"

"In a moment, stupid! I'm still looking at him �" She took an unsteady pace back, head on one side. "He's an absolute monster �" She giggled again, her knuckles to her lips. "I wonder �

"What! What do you wonder? Eh? Aha! I know what you wonder! Oh, vile! Shameless! Come away this instant! No, no �"

"I just want to look, fool! You wouldn't care if it was a horse, or � or a monkey, would you? Well, he's just a barbarian �" And before he could stop her she had swayed forward, laughing, and yanked at my loin-cloth; there was a rending sound, Little An screamed, averted his eyes, tried to drag her away, succeeded in pulling the cloak from her shoulders�and while her ladyship, oblivious, blinked in drunken contemplation, I returned the scrutiny with interest; in fact, I near swallowed my gag.

I should explain that she had looked in while returning from duty in the Emperor's bed, and consequently was still in uniform. Or rather, out of it�and his majesty's tastes were curious. She was dressed in enormous wings of peacock feathers, attached from shoulder to wrist, and high-soled Manchoo slippers from which silver cross-garters wound up to above her knees. The effect was striking; she was one of your slim, perfectly-shaped, high-breasted figures, with skin like alabaster�as I said, I never saw the like. She would have made a stone idol squeal.

"Put it back! Stop it! Don't look!" Little An was in a frenzy, dropping to his knees beside her, pawing distraught. "For pity's sake, Orchid Lady! Please, come away quickly, before � oh, Gods! What are you doing?"

It was a question which, had I not been gagged, I might well have echoed�rhetorically, since there was no doubt what she was doing, the wicked, insolent little flirt. She had detached a plume from her peacock wing and was tickling lasciviously, humming what I took to be an old Chinese lullaby and going into delighted peals at the visible result of her handiwork.

"Oh, buffalo!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands, while Little An stared in horror and absolutely beat his forehead with his fists, and the hapless victim struggled helplessly, distracted and outraged�for I have my dignity, dammit, and I bar being unbreeched and assailed by opium-sodden houris, however be-witching, without even a by-your-leave.

"Oh, horrible! Impossible!" Little An fairly gibbered. "Oh, lady�dear Orchid, please come away! See, I lie at your feet, I beg, I beseech�stop, stop! If someone should find us �"

"That would be unlucky�for them." She stopped tickling, and laid hold. "Oh-h! Little An," says she breathlessly, "go outside � and guard the door."

He gave a frenzied neigh. "What will you do?" he squealed, which was as foolish a question as ever I heard, considering my condition and her behaviour. "No! I forbid it! You cannot! It is sacrilege, blasphemy�awful! It is improper �"

"Do you want to be alive tomorrow, Little An?" The voice was as musically soft as ever, but there was a note in it to bristle your hair. "Go out, keep watch � and wait till I call. Now."

He gave a last despairing wail and fled, and she teased fondly for a moment, breathing hard, and then leaned over to look into my face, possibly to make sure I wasn't going to sleep. Dear God, but she was lovely; the purple mouth was wide, panting violet-scented breaths, the black eyes were glittering as she laughed and called softly:

"Oh, An�he is so ugly! I can't bear to look at him!"

"Then don't!" His piping came faintly through the door. "Don't look! Don't do anything! Don't touch it�him! Remember who you are, you bad, lascivious wretch�you're the Imperial Concubine Yi, beloved of the Complete Abundance, mother of his only child, Moon to the Heavenly Sun! Here�are
you listening?"

"What did you say about complete abundance?" chuckled the drunken hussy, and dropped her silk cloak over my face, to cut off her view, no doubt, drat her impudence. Her hands gripped my chest as she swung nimbly astride, her knees either side of my hips; for a moment she was upright, playing and fondling while I lay fit to burst, and then with a long shuddering sigh she sank slowly down, impaling herself, gliding up and down with maddening deliberation, and what could I do but close my eyes and think of England?

Merry Christmas Harry.

quote:

An said afterwards that it was incredible, and but for the gag I'd have cried "Hear, hear!", supposing I'd had breath to do it. But while I wouldn't have missed it for the world, it was deuced unnerving�being ravished is all very well, especially by the most accomplished wanton in China, if not all Asia, but when you're utterly helpless, and she has finally worked her wicked will and lain sated and moaning drunkenly on your manly chest, only to draw away suddenly with a cry of "Ugh, how he stinks!", and then plucks away the cloak for another look and shudder at you � well, you're bound to wonder about the future, if you follow me.

Little An had it all settled, rot him. When she called, he waddled in, sulking furiously, and said that if she'd quite finished behaving like a rutting sow he would carry her to bed, and then slit the barbarian's tongue so that the disgusting brute couldn't blab when they took him to the Board of Punishments. I listened in cold horror, but she reclined gracefully in a chair and says yawning:

"Blood-thirsty little pig, you'll leave his tongue alone�and the rest of him �" She stretched luxuriously. "Oh, An! Do you know what it's like when your whole body melts in such ecstasy that you feel you'll die of bliss? No, of course you don't. But I do � now. I thought Jung was wonderful, but � oh, Jung was just a boy! This was like � who was that ancient god who used to rape everyone? It doesn't matter." She waved a languid wing in my direction. "Carry me upstairs � and have him taken to the Wang-shaw-ewen. Put him in �"

"Are you mad? Has lechery disordered your wits? What the devil is he to do in the Wang-shaw-ewen?"

"Die a happy barbarian," purrs madam. "Eventually. Unless I tire of him first � which is unimaginable." She sighed happily. "Of course, all that horrid hair must be shaved from his body, and he must be bathed in musk for that awful odour, and dressed decently �"

"You are mad! Take that � that thing to your own pavilion!" He gargled and waved his arms. "And when the Emperor hears of it, or Prince Kung�or your enemies, Sang and Sushun and the Tsai Yuan �"

"Oh, don't be silly! Who would be so brave�or foolish�as to tell on the Concubine Yi? Even you aren't so stupid � are you, Little An?" Just for a second the silvery voice hardened on that chilly note, and then she had risen, staggered, giggled, and broken into a little-girl sing-song: "I'm hungry, An! Yes, I am, An! And I want some pickles, An, and roast pork, and cherries, and lots of crackling, and sugared lotus seeds, and a cup of honeysuckle tea. And then sleep, sleep, sleep �" She leaned against him, murmuring.

"But � but � oh, it's the infernal black smoke! It makes you mad, and irresponsible � and � and naughty! You don't know what you're saying or doing! Please, dear Orchid Lady, little Empress, listen to reason! You've enjoyed the beastly fellow�ugh!�isn't it enough? You say no one would tell�but how if the Emperor came to your pavilion and found that � that creature �"

"The Emperor," says she drowsily, "will never get out of his bed again. Why should he, when I'm always in it? But if he did, and caught me with twenty barbarians � d'you know what? He'd forgive me." She brushed a wing playfully across his face. "If you were a man, Little An, you'd know why. My barbarian knows why!" She pushed away from him, laughing, and skipped unsteadily to my bench, beating her wings. "Oh, yes, he knows why! Don't you, my ugly, hairy barbarian�so ugly, except for the happy part � See? Oh, An, I'm so happy!"

"Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!" He pulled her away; he was nearly in tears. "I won't have it, d'you hear! It's not decent�you, a great Manchoo lady�how can you think of that animal �"

"Oh, leave me alone�look, you've torn my wing!" The lovely mouth pouted as she smoothed her feathers. "You'll make me angry in a minute, Little An�I should have you beaten for that�yes, I will, you blubbery little ape �"

"Have me beaten, then!" he squealed, in sudden passion. "Beat me for a torn wing�and what of your torn honour? You, Yehonala, daughter of a knight of the Banner Corps, mother of Tungchi, the seed of Heaven, to forget your loyalty to the Emperor! You indulge your wicked lust with this peasant savage�you, whose life's duty is the solace and comfort of the Solitary Prince! Shame on you! I'll have no part in it, and you can beat or kill me if you like!" He finished on a fine fearful flourish. "It's not good enough!"

I've taken part in some damned odd scenes in my time, but I imagine a visitor to that room just then would have agreed that the present spectacle was unique. There we were among the furniture and dust-sheets: on my left, in brown robe and pill-box hat, twenty diminutive stone of blubber shrilling like a steam whistle; on my right, topping him by a head in her pearl-fringed block shoes, that incredible ivory beauty, her nudity only enhanced by the ridiculous trailing peacock wings and silver garters; they faced each other across the supine form of the pride of the 17th Lancers, trussed, gagged, and stark as a picked bone, but following the debate with rapt attention. My admiration, if not my sympathy, was all with Little An, as I looked at that lovely, silver-painted mask of a face beneath the coiled raven hair: suddenly it was wiped clean of drugged laughter, and the cold implacability that looked out of it was frightening. I even left off staring at those excellent jutting tits, which goes to show. I'd not have faced her for a fortune, but when she spoke it was in the same soft, bell-like tone.

"Eunuch An-te-hai," says she, and negligently indicated her feet�and the poor little tub came waddling and sank down like a burst bladder. She touched his cheek gently with a silver talon, and he turned up his trembling pug face.

"Poor Little An, you know I always get my way, don't you?" It was like a caress. "And you always obey, because I am your little orchid whom you have loved since I came here long ago, a frightened little girl to whom you were kind. Remember the watermelon seeds and walnuts, and how you consoled me when my heart was breaking for the boy I loved, and how you shielded me from the anger of the Dowager when I broke her best gold cup and you took the blame, and how you whispered comfort when first you wrapped me in the scarlet cloak and took me to the Emperor's bed, trembling and in tears? `Be brave, little empress�you will be a real empress some day'. Have you forgotten, Little An? I never shall."

He was leaking like the Drinking Fountain Movement by now, and no wonder. I was starting to feel horny for her again myself.

"Now, because I love you, too, and need you, Little An, I shall be honest with you�as I always am." The silvery voice was sober as a judge's now. "I want this barbarian, for what you call my wicked lust � no, no, it's true. And why not, if it pleases me? You talk of honour, loyalty to the Emperor�what loyalty do I owe to that debauched pervert? You know I'm not a woman to him, but a pretty painted toy trained to pander to his filthy vices�what honour is there in that? You know, and pity me�and used to arrange those secret trysts with Jung, the man I loved. Where was my honour then?"

"Jung Lu was a noble, a Manchoo, a Banner Chief who would have married you if he could," he whimpered, pawing her feet. "Oh, please, Orchid, i seek only your good�this thing is a barbarian brute �"

"But if I want him, Little An, mayn't I have him � please? He is just a little pleasure � a watermelon seed. And he may have another use; you should know of it � and of other things, which it will soon be time to tell you." She paused, head lifting. "Yes � why not now? This is a good secret place, away from big ears. Go�see that all is safe."

He hopped up, all alarm, popped his head out, and came back nodding nervously. She sat down, motioning him to kneel close, and stroked his fat cheek playfully. "Don't be frightened, small
jelly. Just listen." She began to talk, quite unaware that the big ears of the barbarian melonseed were understanding every word.

"Soon, Little An, two great things will happen: the barbarians will take Pekin, and the Emperor will die. No, listen, you fat fool, and keep your babbling to yourself. First, the Emperor. Only I and one discreet physician know it, but in a few weeks he will be dead, partly of his infirmities, but mostly of over-indulgence in the charms of the Yi Concubine. Well, it's a pleasant death, and I give him every assistance. I believe," says this Manchoo Messalina, with a reflective chuckle, "that I could have carried him off tonight, by combining the Exquisite Torment of the Seven Velvet Mirrors with the Prolonged Ecstasy of the Reluctant Shrimp, which as you know involves partial immersion in ice-cold water. But it will be soon, anyway�and who will rule China then, Little An?" She played with her feathers, smiling at his evident terror. "Will it be that amiable ,weakling, Prince Kung, the Emperor's brother? Or his cousin, the hungry skeleton Prince I? Or that murderous madman, Prince Sang? Or Tungchi, the Emperor's only son�my son? Any one of these, or as many others, might become Emperor, Little An�but who will rule China?"

Well, he could guess, all right, and I could have a suspicion myself; I knew nothing of their palace politics, or the immense power of Imperial concubines, but I know women. This one had the spirit, no error, and probably the brains and determination�above all, she had that matchless beauty which could get her whatever she wanted.

"What � too frightened even to guess, Little An? Never mind; leave the dying Son of Heaven, and consider the barbarians. Sang, the idiot, still hopes to defeat them�which is why he and his fellow-jackals have been urging the Emperor to go north to Jehol, on an ostensible hunting trip for his health!" She laughed without mirth. "In fact, Sang knows such a departure would be seen as a cowardly flight, and the Emperor would be disgraced�and Sang, having beaten the barbarians in his absence, would step into his shoes as the darling of army and people. Poor Sang! If only he knew it, the throne will soon be vacant, and his intrigues all for nothing. In any event, he will not beat the barbarians; they will be here within two weeks."

One of the more unique settings for an information dump.

Also, Messalina was the wife of Emperor Clau-wait this is at least the third time Fraser's used her for a comparison. He really was quite taken with I Clavdivs.

# ? Dec 26, 2024 01:08

Darth Walrus: Feb 13, 2012

For the record, here's our murderous buddy Prince Sang, aka Sengge Rinchen. As you can see, unlike Consort Yi (who Fraser gave a major glow-up - even pictures of her in her youth aren't all that flattering), the book's depiction of him is fairly accurate.

# ? Dec 26, 2024 02:07

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Arbite posted:

Merry Christmas Harry.

Spat my tea. Excellent use of this picture.

# ? Dec 26, 2024 07:18

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

"But that is impossible!" Little An started up in horror. "And that you should say so! You, Orchid Lady, who have urged the Emperor to fight to the end�who made him send the silk cord to defeated generals�who made him set the price on barbarian heads!"

"To be sure�a thousand taels for the Big Barbarian's head, isn't it?" She sounded amused. "A hundred for every white head, fifty for their black soldiers? Five hundred for Banner Chiefs like that repulsive thing there!" She waved a wing at me, the awful bitch. "Really, I must make him wear a mask in bed. But of course I urge resistance�you think I like these barbarian swine? Yehonala is the resolute champion of China, and the people know it, and will remember the Banner Knight's daughter�especially when the Emperor is dead. Until he is, I make him fight�who do you think has kept him from fleeing to Jehol, stupid? It is quite wonderful how even such a flabby wreck as the Son of Heaven can be roused to martial ardour � in bed."

"But if the barbarians triumph, all is lost �"

"No, little fool, all is gained! The barbarians will come�and go, with their piece of paper. China remains. With a new Emperor�but of course, he must be an Emperor acceptable to the barbarians; they will see to that before they go. And they will countenance no bitter enemies like Sang or Prince I or Sushun �"

"But, forgive me, Orchid Lady�you are their bitterest foe of all!"

"But they don't know that, do they? They think Sang and the ministers control the Emperor�they can't conceive the power that rests in the little lotus hand." She raised one slim silver-taloned pinkie, and laughed. "What, a mere girl, who looks like me? Can you hear the Big Barbarian crying `Enemy!' when I smile and bid my ladies serve him rose-petal tea and honey cakes in the Birthday Garden? Why, I'm just the dead Emperor's whore�and the mother of his heir. No, to ensure a clear field for my Imperial candidate�whoever he may be�it is necessary only to ensure the complete discredit in barbarian eyes of such rivals as Sang and his reptiles. As the known leaders of resistance, they are ill-regarded already, but I shall contrive their utter disgrace�perhaps even get them hanged, who knows?"

A smooth operator to put Sade's man to shame.

quote:

D'you know who she reminded me of? Otto Bismarck. Not to look at, you understand, but in the smooth, sure way she summed it up and lined it out, and had you agog for her to drop the next piece into place�and a bare half-hour since she'd been rogering her soul out, whooping drunk on lust and poppy. And, like dear Otto, she was holding my interest despite my other pressing concerns; come on, come on, I was thinking, let's hear how you're going to get Sang to Tyburn, because I want to be there to swing on the bastard's ankles. Little An, too, was clamouring for information, albeit apprehensively. So she told him�and I wished she hadn't.

"It is simple. Before he dies, the Emperor will issue a final vermilion decree, ordering the execution of all barbarian captives now in the Board of Punishments. For this, the Emperor's advisers, Sang and the rest, will be held responsible, and when the bodies are handed back, and it is seen that they have died by the usual procedures�binding, flogging, bursting, maggots the barbarians will be in a rage for retribution. Sang will have to make apologies and excuses�that it was the work of brutal underlings, most unfortunate, much to be regretted, and so forth. The barbarians, growling, will accept the apology�and a cash compensation�as they have done in the past. They will bear no love for Sang and his friends, but they will let the matter end there. Unless," she laughed, and it would have frozen your marrow, "there is, among the bodies, one that has died by the wire jacket, or something equally elaborate. For that cannot be excused as the casual brutality of some underling; it will be seen as a calculated, insulting atrocity. Barbarians are very sensitive about such things; they will certainly take vengeance�and I wonder if Sang will escape with his life?"

My soul shrank as I listened; only a Chinese female could plot with such cruel, diabolic cunning. Our prisoners were doomed, then, one of them by the most ghastly torture�just so that this wicked, lovely harpy could bring down her rivals and capture Imperial power. And there was nothing to be done�I didn't even know how many of our fellows had been taken, or who. And it would be done without warning, or hope of rescue � that little toad An was at the knots and splices of it already, once he'd babbled out his admiration.

"Oh, Orchid Lady, forgive your kneeling slave!" cries he, and he was weeping buckets, so help me. "Your eyes are on the stars, and mine on the dirt! When shall it be done? And which of them shall it be? For it will be to arrange�the victim must be brought from the Board secretly, lest Sang's people should hear. Afterwards, when the bodies are sent to the barbarian camp, it will be easy to increase their number by that one."

"In a week, perhaps. When the barbarians prepare their final attack on the city. And who will wear the jacket?" She shrugged. "One of their leading people�Pa-hsia-li, perhaps." So they'd got Parkes; I could hear that lazy drawl, see the superior smile, and � the wire jacket. "It does not matter. You will see it done. Now," she stood up, stretching, "you will take me up. Oh, but I'm tired, Little An! And hungry! Why did you let me talk so long, you stupid little man!" And she pretended to box his ears, laughing, while he squeaked and feigned anguish.

From appearance here to her dying day, a woman in control.

quote:

That was what made my flesh crawl�the sudden capricious change from hellish scheming to playful mischief, from the cold, unspeakably cruel calculation that meant dreadful death for men she'd never seen, to happy high spirits demanding crackling with cherries, and a tea-leaf pillow because her eyes were tired. It's a rare thing, that gift of human translation, although I'd seen it before�always in people who held immense power. I mentioned Bismarck just now; he had it. So did Lakshmibai of Jhansi�and in a way, James Brooke of Borneo, although with him it had to be a conscious act of will. For the others, it was a necessary part of their nature, to be able to turn, in perfect oblivion, from determining the destiny of a nation, or a matter of life and death, to choosing a new hat or listening to music�and then back again, with the mind wiped clean.

Here, in an hour or so, this bonny girl of twenty-five had been subjected to heaven-knew-what debauches with a dying monarch, drugged herself with opium, run the risk of death for the mere whim of seeing some new thing (a barbarian), ravished a helpless captive for the sheer sport of it, rehearsed her plans for securing supreme political power, again at the risk of death, and was now yawning contentedly at the thought of a snack and a good sleep. God knew what her diary held for tomorrow; my point is, it wasn't quite the home life of our own dear Queen, and it takes a nature beyond our understanding to manage it.

Now, as she yawned and hummed and resumed her cloak and hood, she spared a thought for me again, tickling mischievously and skipping away laughing as Little An scuttled in to fend her off. I was to be taken secretly, she reminded him, to the Wang-shaw-ewen, which sounded like some sort of garden (I wondered what Sang would think when his soldiers reported that the wandering boy had vanished into thin air). The little eunuch made a doubtful lip.

"A pity we must be at the trouble of removing a captive from the Board of Punishments," grumbles he, "when we have one to hand." At which she cuffed him soundly, and serve him right.

"Fat savage, would you harm my barbarian? You'll treat him with care and respect, d'you hear, or I'll have you fed to the tiny devil fish, one greasy inch at a time!" She considered me with her secret smile. "Besides, I told you I may have another use for him. Just suppose � when the other prisoners have been killed, the barbarians discover that one has been saved, and kindly treated, by the Yi Concubine. Won't they be pleased with her�and with her party at court." She patted his head lightly. "Well, it is a possibility."

"Better he should wear the wire jacket!" pipes he viciously. "He deserves it�after tonight he isn't fit to live! How could you?" He shuddered in revulsion. "Ugh! Disgusting!"

"Why, I believe you're jealous, Little An," she mocked him, as he lifted her in his arms. "Oh, stop sulking! Just because you're weaponless, selfish little hound, am I to have no fun? Oh, no, I'm sorry�that was a mean thing to say! Forgive me, Little An �" As he bore her from the room she was apologising to the beastly little bladder, and her last words drifted to my ears, filling me with a new and dreadful fear. "Look, if he does not please me, or I tire of him quickly, perhaps �"

The beautiful voice faded up the stairs, and I was left a prey, as they say, to conflicting emotions.

It's a strange thing, but I remember distinctly I wasn't tired when they whisked me out of that lumber room just as dawn was breaking. Twenty-four hours earlier I'd been waking in my cage at Tang-choa. Since then I'd witnessed the battle of Pah-li-chao, arranged the demise of Trooper Nolan, been ill-used and terrified by Sang's thugs, crawled to the Emperor of China, and conferred, so to speak, with his principal concubine. A busy day, you'll allow, but while I'd a right to be played out, body and soul, I wasn't, because I didn't dare to be; I must keep my wits about me. For one stark thought was hammering in my brain above all others when the shadowy figures flitted into my room, to unchain and carry me swiftly out, wrapped in a carpet like Cleopatra as ever was�whatever happened now, I must not, for my very life's sake, utter so much as a syllable in Chinese.

It was the grace of God that Little An hadn't been present when I babbled before the Emperor; true, he'd later suggested slitting my tongue, but that presumably had just been native caution�he plainly didn't even suspect that I understood the lingo, or he'd never have permitted Yehonala to pour out her girlish dreams in my hearing. To both of them, I was a mere lump of uncomprehending barbarian beef, and if ever they realised that I'd taken in every word � quite. Thank heaven I'd been gagged throughout our meeting, or I might well have spoken at some point � "You permit yourself strange liberties, madam," for example.

Well, they didn't know, and provided I kept my trap shut, they never would. Only the Emperor and his nobles were aware of my linguistic skill, and I wasn't liable to be meeting them again. In the meantime, I faced the prospect of becoming stallion-en-titre to that gorgeous little tyrant, which was capital � and the possibility, if she tired of me, or it suited her murderous plan, that I'd be the one given the wire jacket when they started butchering prisoners. That wouldn't be for a week; I had that much law in which to escape and take word to Grant that he'd better look sharp if he was to rescue them. Then again � escaping would be. damned risky; my safest course might well be to lie snug, bulling Yehonala's pretty little rump off, and pray that she'd exempt me from the slaughter, which she seemed inclined to do. Which meant letting the other prisoners go hang; aye, well, it's a cruel world. It was all very difficult, and I must just wait and see what seemed best�best for Flashy, you understand, and good luck to everyone else.

These were my thoughts as I was borne off, and one thing quickly became plain: in the event that escape did eventually seem advisable (and sorry, Parkes, but on the whole I'd rather not) at least it wouldn't have to be from the Forbidden City, which would have been next to impossible. For after my swathed carcase had been carried some way, it was slung aboard a cart, and driven for about two miles through city streets, to judge from the noises. Then the rumble of other traffic and the din of the waking city ceased, our speed picked up, there were several cock-crows, and I guessed we were in open country. After about half an hour the cart slowed to a walk, my carpet was stripped away, I was hauled into a sitting position, and looked about me.

My escort were four men dressed like Little An, which meant they were eunuchs�nominally, at least, for while three were squeaking butterballs, the fourth was lean and whiskered and spoke in a bass croak. There's one who's all present and correct, thinks I, and he probably was. These eunuchs, you see, are an extraordinary gang; in most eastern countries, they're prisoners or slaves who've been emasculated and given charge of the royal womenfolk. But not in China, where they're absolutely volunteers, I swear it. It's a most prestigious career, you see, offering huge opportunities of power and profit, and there are young chaps positively clamouring to be de-tinkled so that they can qualify for the job. Not a line of work that would appeal to me, but then I'm not Chinese. However, royal concubines being what they are (and you may have gathered that Yehonala, for one, was not averse to male society) it was sometimes arranged that a candidate escaped the scissors and took up his duties in full working order. I suspect that my chap in the cart was one such, and a capital time he must have had of it, since concubines outnumbered the Emperor by about three hundred to one, and his majesty was so besotted with Yehonala that the others had to look elsewhere for diversion. But fully-armed or not, the eunuchs were the most influential clique at court, as spies, agents, and policy-makers; saving the Emperor, the most powerful man in China was undoubtedly Little An, the Chief Eunuch�and he was right under Yehonala's dainty little thumb.

And there they will all stay. Until next time!

Arbite fucked around with this message at 07:48 on Dec 28, 2024

# ? Dec 28, 2024 07:43

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

This update gets more explicitly NSFW, so be mindful of rubberneckers.

quote:

But I'll digress no longer, for now I have to tell you of one of the most wonderful things I've ever seen, a marvel to compare with any on earth�and no one will ever see it again. There are many beautiful things in the world, mostly works of Nature�a Colorado sunset, dawn over the South China Sea, Elspeth, primroses, cold moonlight on the Sahara, an English woodland after rain. Man cannot make anything to equal these, but just once, in this critic's opinion, he came so close that I'd hate to live on the difference. And it was done by shaping Nature, delicately and with infinite patience, as probably only Chinese artists and craftsmen could have done it. This was what I was privileged to see that September morning.

As I remember, we were leaving a little village, on a narrow road between high stone walls, which took us over a stone bridge and a causeway through a lake to a great carved entrance gate. Beyond that was a courtyard, and a massive building, blazing with gold in the rising sun; we drove past it and a scattering of lesser pavilions, and then it burst on the view in all its perfect, silent splendour, and I gasped aloud in wonder, while the eunuchs squeaked and laughed and nudged each other to see the barbarian stricken dumb as he gazed for the first time on the Summer Palace.

As you may have heard, it was not a palace at all, but a garden eight miles long�but it wasn't a garden, either. It was fairyland, and how d'you describe that? I can only tell you that in that vast parkland, stretching away to distant, hazy hills, there was every beauty of nature and human architecture, blended together in a harmony of shape and colour so perfect that it stopped the breath in your throat, and you could only sit and wonder. I can talk of groves of trees, of velvet lawns, of labyrinths of lakes with pavilioned islands, of temples and summer houses and palaces, of gleaming roofs of imperial yellow porcelain seen through leaves of darkest green, of slow streams meandering through woods, of waterfalls cascading silently down mossy rocks, of fields of flowers, of pebbled paths winding past marble basins where fountains played like silver needles in the sunlight, of deer cropping daintily beneath spreading branches, of willow-pattern bridges, of dark grottoes where pale gold statues shone faintly in the shadows, of lotus pools where swans slept�I can write these things down, and say that they were spread out like a great magic carpet in glorious panorama as far as the eye could see, and what does it convey? Very little; it may even sound vulgar and overdone. But you see, I can't describe how one delicate shade of colour blends into another, and both into a third which is not a colour at all, but a radiance; I can't show you how the curve of a temple roof harmonises with the branches that frame it, or with the landscape about it; I can't make you see the grace of a slender path winding serpentine among the islands of a lake that is itself a soft mirror bordered by ever-changing reflections; I can't say why the ripple of water beneath the prow of a slow-gliding pleasure barge seems to have been designed to complement the shape of barge and lake and lily-pad, and to have been rippling since Time began. I can only say that all these things blended into one great unified perfection that was beyond belief, and damned expensive, too.

It had taken centuries to make, and if all the great artists of the Classical Age and the Renaissance had seen it, they'd have agreed that the fellows who designed it (for design, of course, was its secret and its glory) knew their business. Being a Philistine, I will add only: never talk to me about Art or Beauty or Good Taste or Style, because I've seen the bloody elephant.

I say it was a vast garden, but in fact it was many. The main one was the Ewen-ming-ewen, the Enclosed and Beautiful Garden, a great walled park with palaces which were museums of all Chinese art and civilisation, accumulated through the ages; then there was the Ching-ming-ewen, the Golden and Brilliant Garden, with its hills crowned by a six-storey jade tower and a magnificently ruined lamasery, and the Fragrant Hills, the Jade Fountain Park, the Imperial Hunting Park, the Garden of Clear Rippling Water, and the one to which I was taken, the Wang-shaw-ewen, or Birthday Garden, which was reckoned the most perfect of all, with its views of the whole shooting-match, and beyond that distant Pekin, and the surrounding hills.

Author's Note posted:

Many travellers visited the old Summer Palace and marvelled; it has been described by several of Flashman's army comrades, although none of them had the opportunity to study it as closely as he did, but it was obviously a place that had to be seen to be believed. It was a wonder on two counts: for the priceless treasures it contained, and as the supreme example of landscape gardening�for every inch of its extensive grounds, its lakes, and woods, and hills, was said to have been built by craftsmen to the most careful design, some of it over centuries. (See McGhee, Wolseley, Loch, Swinhoe, and volumes xxxvii and xxxviii, Illustrated London News, 1860, 1861.)

quote:

This miracle was all for the personal delight of the Emperor and his court; no other visitors ever saw it, which was perhaps as well, since I should think it was by far the richest treasure house there has ever been in the world. To give you a notion, Yehonala's favourite pavilion was a modest cabin covering about an acre, roofed with gold leaf and apparently constructed of marble, jade, and ivory throughout; its scores of rooms were stuffed with priceless fabrics, carpets, and furs, statuary of every precious metal and porcelain, clocks, jewellery, paintings�I remember going along a verandah, looking out at the glorious scenery, and suddenly realising that I was no longer out of doors, but was staring at a wall so cunningly decorated that it appeared to be a continuation of the world outside; I had walked a good ten paces before I discovered that I was no longer seeing reality, but artifice, and when I went back and stood at gaze, I could hardly tell where one ended and t'other began. It was almost sickening to think of the genius and labour that had gone to the making of such a vain thing�yet it was lovely, and as to the movable loot � well, an entire wing was devoted to thousands of magnificent silk dresses, scarves, and shawls; you absolutely waded through them; another wing was given over to jewelled ornaments so brilliant and numerous that the eye could not bear to look at them for long; one vast room was filled with the most intricate mechanical toys crusted with gems, jade jack-in-the-boxes, walking dolls, blasted diamond frogs and beetles hopping and scuttling all over the shop, and you'd no sooner escaped them than you were in a room walled in solid silver and carpeted in ermine and sable, with gold racks covered in�ladies' shoes.

That was Yehonala's house�and there were hundreds like it, palaces, temples, museums, art galleries, libraries, summer houses, and pavilions, all crammed with treasures so opulent that � why, if those Russian Easter eggs that are so admired had found their way into the Summer Palace, I swear they'd have boiled 'em. God knows what it was all worth�or what it was all for. Greed? Vanity? An attempt to create a luxurious paradise on earth, so that the earth could be forgotten? If the last, then it succeeded, for you forgot the world in an instant. It should have seemed just a great, overstuffed bazaar�but it didn't, probably because of this last detail which I shall tell you, and then I'm done with description: every one of the millions of precious things in the Summer Palace, from the forty-foot jade vases in the Hall of Audience, so fragile that you could read print through them, to the tiny gold thimble on a corner shelf in the room of Yehonala's chief seamstress, was labelled with its description, origin, and the exact position which it must occupy in the room. Think of that the next time you drop a book on the table.

Possibly because of recent events, and my new surroundings, my memories of the first two days in that house are all at random. I saw no one but the eunuchs, whose first task was to groom the barbarian and make him fit for human consumption; Little An was early on the scene, scowling sullenly and instructing the lads to see me shaved, scrubbed, and suitably attired�I had to be careful not to understand the shrill directions screamed at me, and to appear to cotton on slowly. I insisted on bathing and shaving myself, and recall sitting in a splendid marble bathing pool, using a jewelled razor on my chest, arms, and legs, and damning (in English) the eyes of the bollockless brigade as they twittered round the brink pouring in the salts and oils to make me smell Chinese. I had a splendid shouting-match with An on the subject of my moustache and whiskers, which he indicated must come off, and which I by Saxon oath and gesture showed I was ready to defend to the last. Finally I removed them�the first time I'd been clean-shaven since I rode as a bronco Apache in Mangus Colorado's spring war party back in '50�but dug in my heels about my top-hair; I'd been bald, when I was Crown Prince of Strackenz, and looked hellish. (Gad, I've suffered in my time.)

Another memory is of sleeping in silk sheets on a bed so soft I had to climb out and camp on the floor. I suppose I ate, and loafed, but it's fairly hazy until the second night, when they took me in a closed sedan chair to the Imperial apartments in the Ewen-ming-ewen.

This was a piece of pure effrontery on Yehonala's part, and showed not only her supreme confidence in her power, but the extent of that power, and the fear she inspired among the minions of the Imperial court. The Emperor was down in the Forbidden City still, with all his retinue of nobles and attendants, while the Concubine Yi lorded it in the Summer Palace alone�but instead of conducting her illicit amours secretly in her own pavilion, drat if she didn't appropriate his majesty's private apartments, serenely sure that not one of the eunuchs or guards or palace servants would dare to betray her. Little An's spy system was so perfect that I doubt if an informer could have got near the Emperor or any of her enemies, but probably her best security was that almost the whole court worshipped the ground she trod on. "I have that power," remember.

Author's Note posted:

One of Yehonala's six-inch block shoes, fringed with pearls, is said to have fetched �25,000 after being looted in the Boxer Rising.

Imelda eat your heart out.

quote:

I had no inkling of this when they decanted me at the third of the great halls that made up the Emperor's residence, and led me through a circular side-door to a small dressing-room hung with quilted dragon robes in every conceivable colour�it was just like her, you know, to fig me out in her old man's best gear, although I had no suspicion of what was afoot until Little An began puffing musk at me from a giant squirt, and his assistant applied lacquer to my hair to make it lie down. When they tied a flimsy gauze mask over my face, I thought aha!, and then they bundled me into a corridor and along to a great gilt door where a table stood bearing scores of tortoiseshell plaques, each with a different design worked in precious stones. These were the concubines' tablets, with which his majesty indicated his choice for the night; it was then Little An's task to rout out the appropriate houri, wrap her in the silk cloak, carry her to the gilt door, and shoot her in, no doubt with a cry of "Shop!"

He didn't attempt to carry me, just waved me in and closed the door after me. And through the thin mask I saw enough to confirm my growing suspicions.

Directly ahead of me there was a sort of sloping ramp which led up to an alcove entirely filled by a bed large enough to accommodate the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry and a couple of signallers; it was sheeted in purple silk with gold lam� pillows in case anyone wanted to sleep. To the left of the ramp were low ebony tables covered with the kind of bric-a-bric that Susie Willinck had insisted on taking to California, only more expensive: silver opium pipes and skewers, delicate golden chains and fetters, cords of silk and velvet and plaited leather, a tiny cat-o'-nine-tails with minute gems glinting in its lashes, and a scattering of exquisitely-tinted pictures which they wouldn't have shown at the Royal Academy in a hurry. Hang it, this ain't the billiard room, thinks I, and glanced to my right�and forgot everything else.

Yehonala was sitting on a low stool, dabbing her lower lip with a little brush before a dressing-table mirror. She was wearing a robe of some gauzy, shimmering material that changed colour with every movement�a wasted effect, since it was entirely transparent. But it wasn't only the sudden vision of that flawless ivory body that set me gulping and gloating as I surveyed the slender foot and ankle, the slim tapering legs, the smooth curve of belly and rump, the tiny waist, and the splendid conical breasts standing clear of the robe�well, you can see it wasn't � it was that perfect face in the mirror, so arrestingly lovely that you couldn't believe it was flesh and blood, and not a picture of some impossible ideal. She glanced at my reflection in the mirror, cool up-and-down.

"You look much better in a mask," says she idly, as she might have addressed her pet Pekingese, pouting her lip to examine it in the glass. "Go to the bed, then, and wait." I didn't move, and remembering that I was an uncomprehending barbarian she pointed with a silver finger-nail, flicking her hand impatiently. "To the bed�there! Go on!"

If there's one thing that can make me randier than a badger it's an imperious little dolly-mop giving me orders with her tits out of her dress. "Don't you believe it, my lass!" growls I in English, and she stopped, brush poised, eyes wide in astonishment�I reckon it was a shock to her to hear the noise the animal made. She gasped as I pulled off my mask, and for an instant there was fear in the dark eyes, so I smiled politely, made her my best bow, and came up behind her stool. Her face set in anger, but before she could speak I had applied the fond caress that I use to coax Elspeth when she's sulking�one hand beneath the chin to pull her head back while you chew her ,mouth open, the other kneading her bouncers with passionate ardour. They can't stir, you see, and after a moment they don't want to. Sure enough, she stiffened and tried to struggle, writhing on the stool with smothered noises � and then she began to tremble, her mouth opened under mine, and as I worked away feverishly at her poonts her hands reached up to clasp behind my head. I disengaged instantly, dropped to one knee by her stool, smiled tenderly into the beautiful bewildered face, squeezed her belly fondly, stole a quick kiss on each tit, and swept her up in my arms as I rose.

"Wait � put me down � no, let me go � wait �" But having no Chinese I strode masterfully up the ramp, whistling "Lilliburlero" to soothe her, dropped her head and shoulders on the edge of the bed while holding the rest of her clear with a hand under either buttock, leaned forward in the approved firing position, and piled in, roaring like a Gorgon. I believe she was quite taken aback, for she gave one uncertain wail, gesturing feebly with those dear little white hands, but I'd arranged her artfully in a helpless position, hanging suspended while wicked Harry bulled away mercilessly with his feet on the ground, and what was the poor child to do? I was fairly certain, from the look of the Emperor's bedside tackle, and what I'd heard her tell Little An about Reluctant Shrimps or Galloping Lobsters or whatever it was, that she had never been romped in normal, true British style in her life, but you could see her taking to it, and by the time my knees began to creak�for I spun the business out to the ecstatic uttermost for her benefit�she was in a condition of swoon, as I once heard a French naval officer put it. I was quite breathless myself, and blissfully content, but I knew that wouldn't be the end of it.

She fulfilled, you see, four of the five conditions necessary for what may be called the Australian Ideal�she was an immensely rich, stunningly beautiful, highly-skilled professional amorist with the sexual appetite of a pagan priestess; she did not own a public house. And having spent ten years entertaining a depraved idiot of unspeakable tastes, she was now deter-mined to make the most of Flashy while he lasted, which was until about noon next day, so far as I could judge, and if Little An had offered to carry me away I'd have held out my arms, whimpering weakly. Mind you, it was partly my own fault for being such a susceptible romantic. For it wasn't only her beauty, or passion, or matchless skill in the noble art that were nearly the death of me; it was her pure irresistible charm. When I was ruined beyond redemption, face down and fagged out, thinking, aye well, it's been not a bad life, and who'd ha' thought it would end on the Emperor of China's mattress, in the Chamber of Divine Repose (ha!) on the morning of September 25, 1860? � then that perfumed musical whisper would be in my ear, and I'd turn feebly to meet that angelic face with its little smile that pierced me through, and such a wave of sentimental affection would come over me, and a great longing to lock her in my heart forever, and � well, somehow, before I knew it, it was boots and saddles again.

Well unlike those two let's take a break here. It's certainly quite interesting to compare this earthly paradise to the Heavenly Kingdom's.

# ? Dec 30, 2024 07:29

FMguru: Sep 10, 2003; peed on;
sexually

REIGNING YOSPOS COSTCO KING

"The Australian ideal", LMAO.

# ? Dec 30, 2024 15:13

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

FMguru posted:

"The Australian ideal", LMAO.

Did not own a public house. It's a great turn of phrase.

# ? Dec 31, 2024 22:11

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

In a Gazette article entitled "The Fate of the Peiping Captives in the Late War", you may read how Col. Sir H. Flashman "endured a captivity little better than slavery at the hands of his tormentors", who treated him "in the most degrading and insulting manner", and subjected him "to such usage as can seldom have been met with by a British officer in the hands of a savage foreign Power". It's gospel true, and omits only that if the Army had known the circumstances they'd have been lining up to change places with me.

I was fourteen memorable days (and nights) in the Summer Palace of Pekin, held thrall by the notorious Yi Concubine, and since they followed the pattern of the first, you may think I was on velvet, which I was � and silk, satin, gauze, fur, grass, marble (which is perishing cold), yellow jade (even colder), Oriental carpet, leather upholstery, a Black Watch tartan rug (wherever that came from), and the deck of a pleasure barge on the Jade Fountain Lake, which was her most extraordinary choice of all, I think. We'd been cruising about, watching a battle between little model gunboats blazing away at each other with tiny brass cannon, when my lady becomes bored, and consequently amorous, and decided she didn't care to wait till we reached shore�so she made every other soul on board (half a dozen female attendants, two eunuchs, and the entire crew) jump overboard and flounder ashore in ten feet of water, so that I could rattle her undisturbed. Two of the girls were almost drowned.

From this you might suppose that my sojourn was a continuous orgy; not at all. Most of the time I was confined to Yehonala's pavilion, with a couple of the burliest eunuchs on guard, for she was by no means preoccupied with me in those critical times when she was juggling to catch a crown; sometimes I didn't see her for two days on end�early in my captivity, for instance, she went with the Emperor to Jehol, forty miles away, where she tucked him up to die out of harm's way before returning to Pekin for the showdown with Sang and the barbarians. She was plotting and politicking for dear life then, and I was her Wednesday afternoon football match and brandy-and-cigar in the evening, so to speak�and her week-end picnic. A humiliating position which I was mortal glad of after what I'd been through, and I just prayed she wouldn't lose interest in her new toy before Elgin closed his grip on Pekin. For, incredibly, our army was holding off at the last, fearful that a hostile advance might spell the end of us hostages, yet fearing, too, that delay might be equally fatal.

You may wonder how I knew of this; it arose from Yehonala's remarkable attitude towards me. I said before that she spoke to me as though I were a pet poodle�and that was precisely how she treated me. Not wholly surprising, perhaps; with all the arrogance and ignorance of the well-born Manchoo, she thought of foreigners (and I was the first she'd ever seen, remember) as rather less than human, and exercised no more reticence before me than you do before Poll or your tabby. And since, quite apart from coupling, it was her whim to keep me on hand in her leisure hours, when she walked or sat in the gardens, or boated, or played games with her ladies, I learned a deal by sitting quiet with my ears open. I suspect she paraded me chiefly to tease Little An, who was her constant attendant and couldn't abide the sight of me; they'd talk shop by the lily-pond while Fido sunned himself on the grass, the target of apples playfully tossed by her ladies, and took it all in�how Parkes and Loch had been segregated from the other prisoners, and would make ideal candidates for the wire jacket when the time came; yes, the Emperor's signature was already on the vermilion death warrant, which would be forwarded from Jehol to Pekin whenever she wished; the word from the barbarian camp was that they'd rather negotiate than fight, so she had time in hand if she wished; Prince Kung, the Emperor's brother, could be relied on when the final struggle came for imperial power � this was the kind of thing they discussed, never dreaming it was understood.

One vital titbit of information explained why Yehonala, in-stead of staying with the Emperor at Jehol, had returned to the Summer Palace. I gathered that her four-year-old son, Tungchi, to whom she was devoted, was in Pekin, under the care of the Empress Consort Sakota�being heir to the throne, he was far too important to be entrusted to his own mother, who when all was said was only a concubine. This was something that Yehonala, for all her great hidden power, could do nothing about; she could only keep as close to the child as possible, ready to defy protocol by stepping in if he was in any danger, or if the likes of Sang or Prince I tried to get their hands on him. It might come to bloody palace revolution yet, and possession of the infant would be vital�quite apart from her being his doting mama. In the meantime, she could only wait and trust to Sakota, who was her cousin and bosom pal, they having been apprentice concubines together before Sakota was made Empress. (If it seems odd that Yehonala, the Emperor's favourite, hadn't managed to grab the consortship, the answer was that his mother, the canny old Dowager, had spotted her for a driving woman, and had decided that Sakota, an unambitious and indolent nonentity, would make a more manageable Em-press. The two cousins had no jealousy, by the way; Sakota didn't mind being Number Two in bed, and Yehonala preferred the harlot's power to the Imperial title.)

It wasn't canny, hearing all these state secrets and knowing that the speakers regarded me as no more sensate than the chairs they sat on; I wondered if any spy had ever been so fortunately placed before. The irony was that it was of no practical use; with the eunuchs forever on the prowl, and guards within call, I might as well have been in a dungeon. But at least my own position seemed secure enough, so long as I betrayed no understanding; the really dangerous times were when Yehonala and I were in bed together, and her attention close upon me; her confounded playful poodle-talk unnerved me, for as you'll guess if you've ever listened to a woman scratching a kitten's belly, it consisted mostly of damfool questions which it took presence of mind not to answer.

About halfway between ignorance is strength and that longer quote about the less people think of you the freer they are around you.

quote:

"So ugly � so ugly," she would whisper, lying on my chest and brushing her unbound hair across my face. "So ugly as to be almost magnificent � aren't you? So misshapen and ungraceful, great lumpy muscles � you're very strong, aren't you? Strong and stupid, with teeth like a horse. Open � let me see them. Open, I say � Gods, do you have to be shown everything? Ugh, I don't want to look at them! Horrible � I wonder what your barbarian women are like? Are they repulsive, too? You'll find them so, after this, won't you � after the incomparable Yi Concubine? I must look like a goddess to you � do I look like a goddess? Is it possible you might prefer female barbarians, I wonder? I mean, great apes like each other � but you may never see your barbarian women-apes again � not if I keep you. I might, when my son rules, and I'm all-powerful. Would you like that? I could send you now to Jehol, before your friends come � or I could give you back to them. No, I don't want to lose you yet � and how unhappy you'd be, without me � wouldn't you? You must think you're in heaven, poor barbarian. If only you could speak � why can't you speak � properly, I mean? Suppose you could, what would you say to me? Would you make love to me with words, like the poets? Do you know what poetry is, even? Could you write a poem in praise of my beauty � in butterfly words fluttering crooked up and down the page of my heart? Jung Lu wrote me a poem once, comparing me to a new moon, which was not very original � What would you compare me to, d'you think? Oh, you're hopeless! You couldn't love with words � you know only one way, don't you? � like a great, greedy beast � like this � no, greedy beast, not like that! Be still � like this � slowly, you see? � this is the Fourteenth Gossamer Caress, did you know? There are more than twenty of them, and the last, the Supreme Delirium, can be experienced only once, for during it the lover dies, they say � let us be content with the Fourteenth � for the moment � then we'll try the Fifteenth, shall we �?"

It's desperate work, listening to that kind of drivel with a straight face, never showing a glimmer of comprehension, in constant fear lest a blink of surprise, to say nothing of an ecstatic shriek in the wrong language, means certain and hideous death. For I had no illusions about this sweet young thing�if she so much as suspected I understood, the wire jacket would be the least of it; the more I knew of her, the more I became aware of what I said some time ago, that she was a compound of five of the Deadly Sins�greed, gluttony, lust, pride, and anger, with ruthlessness, cruelty, and treachery thrown in; it was fatally easy to forget it, gazing on that lovely face, and embracing that wonderful body, or listening to her chaffing Little An, or joking like a mischievous schoolgirl with her ladies�for she had a great sense of fun, and true playfulness, and yet in spite of all that, there's only one word to describe her: she was a monster.

For one thing, she really enjoyed cruelty, and as an authority in the bullying line myself, I don't speak lightly. Ranavalona of Madagascar has always headed my list of atrocious females, but she was raving mad, and did her abominations almost offhand, without emotion. Yehonala was anything but mad, and if her cruelties seem trivial beside those of my Malagassy Moonbeam, she still inflicted them with the relish of a true sadist. She had a servant following her about with a case of canes and switches, and when anyone displeased her, down came the breeches and lay on with a will, farrier-sergeant. When two of her eunuchs caught some crows and released them with firecrackers tied to their legs so that the birds were blown to bits in mid-air, Yehonala had the culprits' backsides cut to bloody pulp with bamboo whips, watching the infliction of the full hundred strokes with smiling enjoyment. You may say they deserved a drubbing, but you didn't see it.

Even crueller, I thought, was her treatment of a maid called Willow, who offended in some trivial way. Yehonala ordered another maid to start slapping Willow's face, and when she didn't do it hard enough, made Willow slap her back. In the end she had the two little chits thrashing each other in tears, while she laughed and clapped her hands. Add that it was she who constantly urged the slaughter of prisoners, and sent the suicide cords to unfortunate commanders, and I'd say the cruelty case is proved; for ruthlessness and treachery I'd refer you only to her first conversation in my presence.

As to the Deadly Sins�I saw her in a towering rage only once, with the bird-blowing eunuchs, but I'm told that her anger was legendary, and could be berserk in its fury. She wasn't a glutton in the ordinary sense, but her pleasure in food was voluptuous, especially in dainties like sugared seeds of various kinds, and every kind of confectionery, which seemed to have no effect on her figure. She enjoyed opium, but thought no one else should have it; she also took snuff, from a hollowed-out pearl with a ruby stopper, and was the prettiest sneezer you ever did see, giving tiny little "cheef!" noises and wrinkling her nose. She was uncommon greedy for precious things, which was astonishing since she had everything a woman could conceivably want; yet she gloated over her jewellery and clothing in a way that was positively indecent, and I doubt (from her conversation) if enough money could have been minted to satisfy her. Hand in hand with her delight in clothing, her transparent robes, her pearl capes, her enormous sleeves, her thousand pairs of shoes, the jewels which she would fondle as though they were alive, went her vanity, which was all-consuming�and she had every reason for it. As to her lust � don't ask me, how would I know?

Perhaps, on consideration, I'm wrong to call her a monster�unless it's monstrous to indulge an unbridled appetite without regard for anyone or anything. Yes, I think that's right; I do, and I'm a monster. With Yehonala, everything was extreme; whatever she did was done with every fibre of her, and enjoyed with sensual intensity�whether it was nibbling a sugared walnut, or half-killing a partner in bed, or flaunting a new dress, or having an offender flogged nearly to death, or watching the sun go down over the Fragrant Hills, or ruling an empire � she would squeeze the last drop of savour out of it, and lick her fingers afterwards. If you could have seen her even walking, with that quick, gliding stride, or pinning one of her five hundred jade butterfly brooches to her dress, or playing "The Eight Fairies Travel Across the Sea" game with her ladies, or spraying glycerine on her face to fix her cosmetics�always the same concentration, the same implacable zeal to do it exactly right, the same ambition for perfection. No wonder she became mistress of all China�or that the Emperor died of her mattress gymnastics. Ten years? It's a marvel he lasted ten days.

Philip VI lasted six months. Also gossamer is finest silk.

quote:

I append these details because, since she became one of the great women of history, an eye-witness account may be of some interest; perhaps it'll help some clever biographer to plumb the mystery of her character. I can't; I knew her as a lover, you see, and Dick Burton assures me I'm a hopeless nympholeptic, which sounds, good fun. She ravished my senses, right enough, and scared me to death�which, by the way, is true of the only three women (apart from Elspeth) whom I've truly loved: Lola, Lakshmibai, and Yehonala. An empress, a queen, and the greatest courtesan of her time; I dare say I'm just a snob.

However, my little character-sketch will have explained my growing anxiety in case she discovered that she was nourishing a Chinese-speaking British viper in her gorgeous bosom. For every day increased that risk � and still Elgin didn't move.

The British and French army seemed to have put down roots at Tang-chao, a mere ten miles from Pekin; I couldn't fathom Grant's intentions, with winter coming on, his lines of communication gaping for a hundred miles behind him to the coast, his force still outnumbered at least four to one�if I'd had command of the remaining Tartar cavalry I'd have had him and his army and his bull fiddle bottled on the Peiho yet. The reason, according to Little An, was that the Big Barbarian was scared the prisoners would be murdered if he moved; knowing Elgin, I was sure there must be more to it; in fact, he and Grant were just "makking siccar", as my wife would say, counting on the very error which I heard Little An making to Yehonala.

"We shall have warning if they move," says he. "The big guns will sound, the order for the deaths of the barbarian prisoners can be dispatched, and we shall have ample time to retire to Jehol, leaving Sang and Prince I and Sushun and the rest of the reptiles to meet the wrath of the Big Barbarian. Hang-ki has charge of Pa-hsia-li and the other; they can be removed quietly and executed by the jacket whenever you wish. Unless," he glanced moodily at me, "you will be wise and put that thing away." Meeting his eye, I smiled amiably and nodded. "What in the name of Yen-lo are you going to do with him, Orchid Lady?"

"Take him to Jehol," says she. "Why not?"

"Gods! To Jehol�and play the harlot with him while � while the Son of Heaven is dying in the next room?"

"Well, I can hardly play the harlot with the Emperor, in his condition, can I? And you know me, Little An�I have to be playing the harlot with someone, or so you keep telling me."

"Will you jest, at such a time?" he shrilled. "Oh, little em-press, if you have no shame, at least have sense! Prince Kung and the Empress Dowager are lodged only a mile away�in the Ewen-ming-ewen! Suppose word reached them of this beast's presence? Suppose Sang gets to hear of it? At the moment when you have the prize all but in your grasp�oh, why do I waste time, talking to a lovely idol with an ivory head? How will you hide him in Jehol, or on the road? It's a full day's journey!"

"He can travel with the eunuchs. It may be that I'll keep him as one, eventually. Perhaps make him chief�in place of you. At least he won't deafen me with impertinence. By the way, we'll travel to Jehol by night. Have the horse-litters and cavalry escort standing by from tomorrow; the barbarians may come soon now."

And on yet another new peril we close out 2024, though the Year of the Dragon has a few weeks yet. See you next time.

# ? Jan 1, 2025 07:44

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

By gad, I hadn't liked the sound of that. Of course she was just joking�teasing Little An. Wasn't she? One thing was sure, she wasn't getting me to Jehol�when those guns sounded, I'd make a run for it, somehow. If I could give my watchdogs the slip, after dark�even if I didn't get out of the Summer Palace, there were acres of woodland to lie up in � I might even get clear away, and be in time to reach Grant and have him send a flying column slap into the city to rescue Parkes and the others � Probyn or Fane would be in and out before the Chinks knew they'd been. Aye, but I mustn't run the slightest risk of capture myself�the thought of being dragged back, helpless, to face her fury (they can't stand being jilted, these autocratic bitches) and Little An's malice �

"What's the matter with the filthy brute? He looks as though he'd seen a spirit!" It was Little An's harsh squeal, and I realised with a thrill of fear that he was staring at me. How I didn't start round in guilty panic, God knows; I forced myself to sit still�we were in the long ivory saloon of her pavilion, An standing beside her chair while she ate her supper of peaches sliced in honey and wine; myself on a stool about ten feet away. A few of her ladies were playing Go at the other end, laughing and chattering softly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Yehonala had turned to look at me, laying down her spoon. I took a deep breath, pressed my hands to my stomach, and belched gently. She laughed.

"Fried bread dragons. Or love-pangs for his Orchid�eh, Little An?" She returned to her peaches.

"Perhaps." To my consternation he walked towards me slowly, and I gave him my idiot smile as he paused before me, a thoughtful frown on his pudgy face. "Do you know, Orchid Lady," says he, watching me, "I have sometimes wondered if this � this stallion of yours � is as senseless as he seems. Once or twice � just now, for instance � I've wondered if he doesn't understand every word we say."

It was like a douche of cold water, but I daren't drop my eyes. I could only blink, without interest, and hope the thunder of my heart wasn't audible.

"What?" Her spoon tinkled into the dish. "Oh, what old wool! Barbarians don't speak our language, stupid!"

"Pa-hsia-li does. Like a school-master." His little eyes were bright with suspicion. "So will others. Perhaps this one."

"And never a word out of him in days? Or any sign of sense? Nonsense! What makes you think so�apart from malice?"

He continued to stare at me. "A look � an expression. A sense." He shrugged. "I may be wrong � but if I'm not, the tale of your pleasuring him will be the least he can tell." His eyes narrowed, and I knew what was coming�and began a cavernous yawn to cover the reaction which I knew he was going to startle out of me. Sure enough:

"Look at his thumb!" he squeaked.

Now, I defy anyone in my position not to twitch his thumb, or whatever extremity is mentioned�unless he has set his muscles and begun to yawn, which is a fine suppressor of the guilty start. Hutton, old Pam's Treasury gun-slinger, taught me that one. I saw the disappointment on Little An's face, and looked at him serenely.

"If you are right," says Yehonala, "then he understands us now."

I glanced at her, reasonably enough, since she'd spoken�and felt sick. She was frowning uncertainly, upright in her chair; she beckoned abruptly, so I got up and went over, meeting her stare with polite interest. After a moment:

"Do you understand me?' says she sharply, and I smiled hopefully as her eyes stayed steady on mine. Then she pointed at her feet, so I knelt upright in front of her, my face just below the level of her own, about two feet away. She continued to watch me intently, that lovely oval mask expressionless, and then said quietly:

"I don't know, An � but we must be sure. It's a pity. Take the sabre from the wall yonder � quietly. When I say `Begin' � strike."

If it was a bluff, it was bound to work. Even Hope Grant or Rudi Starnberg wouldn't have been able to repress a flicker when she spoke the fatal word, and my nerves weren't in the same parish as theirs. I didn't hear Little An move behind me, but I knew he'd be there, quietly poising that razor-sharp blade, waiting. I could only kneel patiently, praying the sweat wasn't starting from my brow, meeting her cold gaze with smiling inquiry as I would have done if I'd been innocent, letting my smile fade uncertainly as she didn't respond. I strove not to gulp, to look easy, knowing it was no go�unless I could think of something I was bound to flinch at the word. In desperation, I lowered my eyes, searching for inspiration � finally letting my glance stray to her bust; she was wearing one of those tight silk Manchoo dresses that button at the throat and are open to the breast-bone, leaving a gap through which appetising curves of Eve's puddings are to be seen; I stared with rapt interest, moving my head slightly for a better view, moistened my lips, and blew gently at the opening. She flinched, and I glanced up with an insolent suggestive twitch of the brow to let her see how my thoughts were running; there was a shadow of doubt in the dark eyes, so I returned to my leering contemplation of her bouncers with a contented sigh, leaning a little closer and blowing again, a longer sustained breeze this time �

"Begin," says she softly, and I continued to blow soft and steady, without a tremor, for I knew it was a bluff, and that Little An, far from holding a sabre over my head, was still ten feet away, watching. If you want to play double-dares with Flashy, don't do it when there's a polished walnut cabinet reflecting the room behind him.

I can buy it.

quote:

"Idiot!" snaps Yehonala, and snatching up her spoon she flung it at An's head. "He doesn't understand a word! You're a snivelling old woman � and a spiteful little worm! Now get out, and leave us alone."

By George, I was glad to see the brute go; he'd had my innards in a rare turmoil for a few minutes, and I knew that now his suspicions were aroused he'd watch me like a lynx. Even in the small hours, when Yehonala had played us both out, I was still too nervous to go to sleep for fear I babbled in Chinese�and next day, to my consternation, I was confined to my room, with the door locked and a Mongol trooper of the Imperial Guards cavalry on sentry, which had never happened before. I glimpsed him when they brought my dinner�a hulking, shaven-headed rascal in a mail coat and yellow sleeves. I demanded in English to be let out, and they slammed the door on me without a word. I ate little dinner, I can tell you, pacing up and down my room with its high, impossibly tiny windows, asking myself if An had been poisoning her mind with suspicions, but as the day wore on my anxieties changed colour�something strange was doing in the Summer Palace. There was distant bustle in Yehonala's pavilion, voices raised and feet hurrying; outside in the garden, towards evening, there were unmistakable noises of horses going past, and a peremptory voice in Chinese: "I know the litters are there, but the third one's empty�no cushions or rugs! Why not?" An apologetic mumble, and then: "Well, get them! And stay with the grooms. If anyone wanders off, he'll walk to Jehol in a cangue!"

quote:

So she was going! Was Grant moving at last, then? But there hadn't been a single cannon-shot, ours or the Chinese; he couldn't be advancing on Pekin without some hysterical Tartar touching off a field piece, surely? Tang-chao was less than a dozen miles away�the sound of firing would carry easily � but the afternoon light was fading; it wasn't possible he was coming today, Yehonala's people must have had a false alarm�and then, far-off, there was the brazen whisper of a Manchoo trumpet, and a drum of approaching hoof-beats, a single rider pounding across the sward, voices calling anxiously at the front of the house, and a hoarse cry of alarm:

"The barbarians! Fly for your lives! They are in the city�the streets run with blood! Everyone is dead, the Temple of Heaven is overthrown, the shops are closed!"

I swear it's what he said�and even the last part wasn't true. Not a single allied soldier was in Pekin, nor even a gun threatening its walls, the Manchoo army was watching in vain � but the barbarians were coming, all right. Grant had slipped his hounds without so much as a shout, our cavalry was sweeping in from the north (the last place they might have been expected), with the Frog infantry in support�everyone got lost in the dark and went blundering about famously, but that only added to the Chinese confusion. I knew nothing of that as I listened to the uproar in the pavilion � and now footsteps were padding to my door, it was thrown open, and a eunuch came in, threw me a cloak, and jerked his thumb. I slipped it over the loose tunic and trousers that were my only clothes, and followed him out, my Mongol guard looming behind me as we made our way to the ivory saloon.

The pavilion was in the throes of a flitting. The halls and passage-ways were cluttered with luggage, servants were staggering out under boxes and bundles, eunuchs fussed everywhere, maids were fluttering in silken confusion, and a stalwart young Manchoo Guards officer was barking orders and cuffing heads in an effort to bring them to order (I recognised the peremptory voice from the garden; although I didn't know it yet, this was Jung Lu, Yehonala's old flame and now Imperial Guards commander). Only in the ivory saloon was there comparative peace, with Yehonala looking uncommon fetching in a magnificent snow-leopard robe with a gigantic collar, sitting at ease while Little An fussed about her, and half a dozen of her ladies waited in a respectful semi-circle at the far end, all dressed for the road. She indicated that I should stand by her table, and the Mongol fell in beside me, breathing garlic.

"Why don't they come?" Little An was squeaking; his face was bright with sweat. "If their soldiers are north of the city, we may be cut off here! How could we escape their devil-cavalry, who speed like flying dragons? Should we not send another messenger, Orchid? What can be keeping them?"

Yehonala stifled a yawn. "The Empress Dowager will have mislaid her eyebrow tweezers. Stop fussing, Little An�the barbarians are intent on Pekin; they won't come here. Even if they did, Jung Lu has men on the road to bring word."

Little An glanced round as though he expected to see Elgin climbing in the window, and stooped to whisper. "And if Sang should come? Have you thought of that? We know who he's after, don't we? Suppose he were to come with riders�what case are we in to resist him, with only a handful of Guards?"

"Sang has enough to do with the barbarians, fool! Besides, he wouldn't dare lay hands on the Empress � or on him." But I saw the silver nails were drumming gently on the arm of her chair.

"You think there's anything that madman would not dare?" An shrilled. "I tell you, Orchid Lady�the barbarians can have Pekin for him, so long as he can get his claws on �"

"That will do, Eunuch An-te-hai." The lovely voice had a dangerous edge. "You're alarming my ladies, which is bad for their digestions. Another word, and you'll stand on that table and repeat a hundred times: `I beg the ladies' pardon for my unmannerly cowardice, and humbly entreat the Empress of the Western Palace to sentence me to a hundred lashes on my fat little bottom'. And she'll do it, too."

That sent her ladies into great giggles, and Little An fell sullenly silent. The noises of exodus were dying away in the pavilion; a door slammed, and then there was silence. I strained my ears�if our fellows were north of the city they couldn't be more than five miles away. Yehonala was right; they wouldn't bother with the Summer Palace until Pekin was secure, but if I could make a break, perhaps when we set off � it would be dark �

Brisk footsteps sounded, and the young Guards Commander strode in, halting smartly and bowing his pagoda helmet to his waist. "The Prince Kung and the Lady Dowager have decided to remain, Concubine Yi, but the others will be here in a few minutes."

"What can have happened to those tweezers?" says Yehonala. "And probably the sleeping pantaloons, too. Ah, well. Are the litters ready, Colonel Jung?"

"Three horse palanquins in the court, Orchid, with the carriage for your ladies." He was breathing hard. "I've sent the servants' carts ahead, so that they won't delay us, and had all the gates locked. It will be necessary to reach the court by the garden passage �" he pointed to the narrow arch at the far end of the room, where the ladies stood "- and from the court the Avenue of Dawn Enchantment is walled as far as the Jehol road, where I have a troop waiting."

I'd never heard of a horse palanquin before. The advantages and disadvantages are pretty clear, though I wonder if there's a childrens book full of other unusual takes on conventional travel.

quote:

He paused for breath, and Little An cried:

"Why these precautions? Are the barbarians so close?"

Jung ignored him, speaking direct to Yehonala. He was a good-looking lad, in a dense, resolute sort of way; Guards officers much the same the world over, I suppose.

"Not the barbarians, Orchid � no. My rider at the Anting Gate has not reported. But it would be best to leave quickly, as soon as the Empress arrives. There may be � some danger in delay."

Little An absolutely farted in agitation and was beginning to squeal, but Yehonala cut in. "Be quiet! What is it, Jung?"

"Perhaps nothing." He hesitated. "I stationed my sergeant on the Pekin road, half-way. His horse came in just now�without a rider." There was silence for a moment, then:

"Sang!" shrills Little An. "I knew it! What did I say? Lady, there is no time to lose! We must go at once! We must�"

"Without my son?" She was on her feet. "Jung�go and meet them. Bring them yourself�bring them, Jung, you understand?"

He saluted and strode out, and Yehonala turned to the palpitating An and said quietly: "Every shadow is not Prince Sang, Little An. Even sergeants fall off their horses sometimes. No, be silent. Whatever has happened, your bleatings will do nothing to help." She adjusted her fur collar. "It's cold. Lady Willow, have them put the screen' across the window."

As her woman pattered to obey, she paced the floor slowly, humming to herself. Outside the sound of Jung's hoof-beats had faded, and we waited in the stillness, the air heavy with suspense. She may have found it cold, but I was sweating�whatever the possible danger, I reckoned Jung was a good judge, and he'd been a sight more worried than he let on. Little An was visibly bursting with silent terrors, in which Sang presumably had the lead role. Well, that was one I could do without � if he bowled in, I could see a pretty little scene ensuing when he recognised one of his star prisoners. Suppose I broke for it now � a bolt for the door, downstairs and into the garden � ? My skin roughened at the thought � the Mongol was at my elbow, stinking to high heaven, never taking his eyes off me -

"Ho-hum, cheer up, Little An," says Yehonala, pausing in her walk, and prodding him playfully in the stomach. "You need some exercise, my lad. I know�where's my cup and ball?"

It was lying on the table beside me, a priceless little toy of solid gold stem with a jade cup, and a gold chain attaching to the ball, which was a black pearl. She was expert in its use, but Little An was a hopeless duffer, and it was a standing joke with her to make him sweat away at it, fumbling and squealing, while her ladies went into fits.

I picked it up and handed it to her.

# ? Jan 5, 2025 08:47

tokenbrownguy: Apr 1, 2010

ah the part where we all pray someone finally kills this man

# ? Jan 5, 2025 22:00

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

Very well, I was off-guard, preoccupied with the thought of bolting for safety, and my action was purely automatic�so much so, that she had actually taken it, with a little smile at me, and it was only the horrified realisation dawning on my own face that made her stare. Without that, my blunder might have passed unnoticed, or I might have bluffed it out � but now her eyes were blazing, Little An was shrieking�and I lunged headlong for the door, slipped on a rug on the polished floor, and came down with a crash that shook the building. The Mongol was on me before I could roll away, snarling like a bear, his great hands reaching for my throat; I thumped him once, and then like a clever lad he had his knife-point under my chin, climbing off me nimbly and bringing me up like a hooked fish, his free hand locked in my collar. He shot a glance at Yehonala, and asked for instructions.

"Kill him! Kill him!" squealed Little An. "He's a spy�a barbarian spy!" A brilliant thought struck him. "Gods! He was Sang's prisoner! He's a spy of Sang's! He �"

"Put him yonder," says Yehonala, and the Mongol thrust me down in her chair, taking his stand behind it with his knife prodding the angle of my neck and shoulder�it beats handcuffs any day.

"Why?" yelps Little An. "Kill him now! Aiee, Orchid, why do you hesitate? He has heard all�he knows! He must die at once, before the Empress comes! Please, Orchid! Kill him�quickly!"

She came to stand in front of me, moving without haste, and save for the black ice of her eyes there wasn't a trace of expression on the beautiful oval face framed in the fur collar�even in that hellish moment I couldn't help thinking what an absolute peach she was. She flicked the golden toy in her hand, and the black pearl fell into the cup with a sharp click.

"You speak and understand Chinese?" It was a cold whisper, and since there was no point in denial, I nodded. Ignoring An, who was gibbering for my blood, she clicked the ball into its socket again, and said the last thing I'd have expected.

"You must have nerves like steel chains. Last night � you knew what I had told Little An, but you didn't flinch by a hair's breadth."

"I'm a soldier, Empress of the Western Palace." I was trying not to croak with terror, for I knew that if there was any hope at all, it rested on a cool, offhand bearing�try it next time a Mongol's honing his knife on your jugular. "My name's Colonel�Banner Chief�Flashman, and I'm chief of intelligence to Lord Elgin, whom you call the Big Barbarian �"

"He's a spy!" shrieks An. "He admits it! Kill him! Give the order, Orchid Lady!"

"Why did you never speak before?" Her voice could never sound harsh, but it was fit to freeze your ears. "Why did you lie and deceive, by silence? Are you a spy?"

"Of course he is! He said so! He �"

"No, I was a prisoner of Prince Sang's, taken by treachery. When you found me, I was gagged and unable to speak. By the time I was released, I had heard so much that to have admitted my knowledge would have meant certain death." I frowned, gave my lip a gentle chew, and then looked her in the eye, speaking soft like a man striving valiantly to conceal his emotion�you know, a kind of ruptured Galahad. "I had no wish to die � not when I had found a new reason for living."

For a second she didn't take the drift�and then, d'you know, she absolutely blushed, and for the only time in our acquaintance she couldn't meet my eye.

quote:

He lies!" screamed Little An, God bless him. "Orchid, he has the tongue of a snake! The lying barbarian dog! Will you let him insult you, this beast? Kill him! Think what he knows! Think what he's done!" Keep it up, Little An, thinks I, and you'll talk me out of this yet. She met my eye again, cold as a clam.
>
"You think you will live now?" She flicked her cup and ball again�and missed.

"Why should you kill me � when I can serve you better alive? What I've overheard is in no way dangerous to you � or to your son; on the contrary." I knew I mustn't babble in panic, but maintain a calm, measured delivery, head up, jaw firm, eyes steady, bowels dissolving. "Tomorrow the British army will be in Pekin, seeking a treaty�not with Prince Sang, or Prince I, or Sushun, but as you said yourself, `with an Emperor acceptable to the barbarians'. Since it's likely that the present Emperor will die, I can think of no more acceptable successor than your own son � guided by those who love him and seek the good of China. So I'll tell Lord Elgin�and he'll believe me. He will also see it for himself. And believe me, Empress�if you want a friend, you'll find none better than the Big Barbarian. Except one."

By jove, it was manly stuff�and true, for that matter. How she was taking it, I couldn't tell, for her face was as mask-like as ever. Little An wasn't buying; he'd picked his line, a singularly unattractive one, and was sticking to it. The Mongol I wasn't sure about, but he wasn't a voting shareholder. I sat bursting with concealed funk; should I say more � ? Yehonala flicked her cup again, and this time the ball snapped home with such finality that like a fool I came out with the first thing that entered my head.

"Of course, you'd want to stop the death warrants for Pa-hsia-li and the others. Lord Elgin would never forgive �" I stopped dead, appalled at the thought that I was voicing a threat�and an even more frightful thought occurred: suppose Parkes was dead already? Oh, Jesus what had I said? Yehonala's reply left me in no doubt.

"He would never forgive Prince Sang, you mean."

"Yes, yes!" cries An eagerly. "That is the way! Don't listen to this liar, Orchid! Kill him and have done! He's a spy, who'll take every word to the Big Barbarian, lying and poisoning him against us! What do they care for China? They hate us, mutinous slaves!" He turned on her, hissing. "And he would defame you � oh, he won't tell them just what he's heard! He'll invent foul slanders, abominations, mocking your honour �"

The temptation to bellow him down with indignant denials was strong, but I knew it wouldn't do with this icy beauty's eye on me, and her mouth tightening as she listened. I waited until he ran out of venom, and sighed.

"There speaks the jealous eunuch," says I, and gave her just a hint of my wistful Flashy smile. "What can he know, Orchid Lady?"

Those were my bolts shot, diplomatic and romantic, and if they didn't hold � I could try shooting feet first out of the chair and diving for the door, but I rather fancied the expert at my back would be ready for that. I waited, while she clicked her infernal toy again, and then she turned abruptly away, signing Little An to follow her out of earshot. At the end of the room her ladies stood agog, twittering at this sensation. While she and An conferred, my watchdog and I fell into conversation.

"Lift the point a little, soldier, will you?"

"Shut up, pig."

Whether our friendship would have ripened...

A regular Sam and Ralph in the making.

quote:

or what conclusion Yehonala and An would have reached, I can only guess, for it was at that moment that we were interrupted. One second all was still, and then there was a confused tumult from the garden, a babble of voices with a man shouting and women crying out closer at hand; distant yells and the sound of approaching hoof-beats; feet running in the house itself, and then the door was flung open and a tiny boy rushed into the room. He was the complete little mandarin, button hat and dragon robe and all, and at the sight of Yehonala he screamed with delight and raced towards her, arms out�only to stop abruptly and make a very slow, deep bow which was never completed, for she had swept him up, kissing him, crying out, and hugging him to her cheek. Then there were women in the room, three of them�a tall, bonny Manchoo girl with scared eyes, in a sable hat and cloak, and two other ladies, one of them squealing in alarm. From the fact that everyone in the room except Yehonala and my Mongol (trust him) dropped to their knees and knocked head; I knew this could only be the Empress Sakota, and the little boy, who was demanding shrilly to be let down so that he could show Yehonala his new watch with the little bell (the damnedest things stick in your memory) must be the heir to the throne, Tungchi.

They were all crying out at once, but before any sense could be made of it there was a yell and a clang of steel from the front of the house, a stentorian voice roaring to knock the bastard down but not to kill him, and noises to suggest that this was being done, not without difficulty. Then the Empress Sakota went into hysterics, covering her ears and shrilling wildly, her ladies stood appalled and helpless until Yehonala slapped her soundly, pushing her towards her own ladies who bore her in a screaming scrimmage to the end of the room. One of Sakota's females swooned, the other was sobbing that the Prince General was here � and booted feet were striding up the passage, the half-open door was thrown back to the wall, and General Sang-kol-in-sen stood on the threshold.

It had happened more quickly than it takes to tell. I doubt if a minute had elapsed since the Mongol told me to shut up�and now for a second the room was still as death, except for the subdued sobbing of the Empress, and the little prince's shrill voice:

"See�when I push it, it rings! It rings!" He pulled at Yehonala's sleeve. "See, mama�it rings!"

She had set him down, but now she picked him up again and handed him to Little An, who had turned a pale green, but took the boy and was turning away at Yehonala's quiet word when Sang roared "Wait!" and advanced a couple of paces into the room. He was in full fig of tin belly and mailed legs, with a fur cloak hanging from his shoulders, his dragon helmet under one arm and his shaven skull gleaming like a moon. Two wiry Tartar troopers were at his back, and I think it was the sight of them that made my Mongol withdraw his knife and step clear of my chair, his hand resting on his sabre-hilt. I sat still; I'm nobody's fool.

Yehonala stood perfectly still in the centre of the room, facing Sang who had halted about ten feet away. His basilisk stare moved from Little An to her, and he gave her a curt nod.

"All harmony, Yi Concubine. I have �"

"All harmony, Lord Sang," says she quietly, "but you forget her Imperial Highness is in the room."

He grunted, and ducked his head towards the distant women. "Her Imperial Highness's pardon. My business is with his Highness the Son of the Son of Heaven. His sacred presence is required in Pekin. The Prince I commands it."

"His Highness is going to Jehol," says she. "The Emperor commands it."

Her tone rather than the words made his face crimson, and I saw the cords of his bull neck stiffen in anger, but instead of howling, as usual, he gave a contemptuous snort.

"You have a vermilion decree, swaying the wide world? No? Then we waste time. I'll take his Highness. I have an escort."

"Chief Eunuch," says she, "take his Highness down to the court � at once." She stood as stately calm as ever, but I caught the shake in her voice, and so did Sang, for he laughed again.

"Stand still, bladder! Don't be a fool, Yi Concubine. Your Imperial Guards hero is down there with a broken head, and this fellow'll take my orders!" He jerked a thumb at my Mongol, glanced in our direction, and noticed me for the first time. For a moment he frowned, and then his eyes dilated and his mouth gaped, which didn't improve his appearance one bit. "That!" he bawled. "By death, what is it doing here?"

"He is a Banner Chief of the barbarian army!" she retorted. "A staff officer of the Big Barbarian himself �"

"I know what he is! I asked how he came here!" His glare fell on Little An, half-hidden behind Yehonala and clinging to the small prince as though he were a lifebelt. "You�capon! Is this some of your work? No, you scum, you never do anything but at her bidding!" He thrust out his jaw at Yehonala. "Well? What is an enemy prisoner doing in the Yi Concubine's pavilion?"

"I am not answerable to you!" Her voice trembled with anger. "Now get out of my house! And knock your head as you go, you low-born Mongol!"

He actually fell back a pace, and then he seemed to swell, towering above her with both mailed hands raised, mouthing like a maniac. My guard took a pace forward, but Sang mastered himself, glaring from one to other of us, and his dirty mind must have come to the right conclusion, for suddenly he gave a snarling grin. "Ah! I begin to see! Well � it's no matter. We'll put the foreign filth where he belongs�in the Board of Punishments! And you," he shouted at Yehonala, "can answer to the Supreme Tribunal � and bring your own silk cord with you, traitress!" He gestured to his men. "Take his Imperial Highness�and that fan-qui rubbish!"

One of the Tartars stepped towards Yehonala, none too brisk, and she turned and snatched the boy from Little An, pulling him close to her side. She was quivering like a deer, but her eyes were blazing.

"Dare! Dare to touch him, you stable scum, and you'll die for it! For treason and sacrilege! The Emperor will �"

"On the word of a faithless whore?" jeers Sang, and thrust the Tartar brutally forward. "Fetch him, fool!"

The Tartar took another step, Little An screamed and blundered bravely forward, arms windmilling, to bar his way, and Yehonala swung the prince up in her arms, turned to run in sudden panic, realised it was hopeless, and turned again, help-less. The Tartar flung Little An aside, the ladies behind wailed in terror, and Yehonala flung out a hand to ward off the Tartar, crying out.

"Help me! Stop them! Help me!" And, by God, she was calling to me.

Well, you know what follows when a beautiful young woman, threatened by brutal enemies, turns to me in a frenzy of entreaty, hand outstretched and eyes imploring; if she's lucky I may roar for the bobbies as I slide over the sill. But this was different, for while they'd been trading insults I'd been calculating like sin, and I knew how it must be, even before she hollered for help�if Sang prevailed, I was dead meat; if I turned up trumps, Yehonala would see me right; if Sang thought he could rule out the Mongol, he was wrong, for the brute was not only an Imperial Guardsman worth two Tartars any day, he had a mishandled chief to avenge, and the sight of Yehonala threatened had been causing him to bristle like a chivalrous gorilla. It was his size that determined me, and the fact that there wasn't a sill to slide over, anyway. It was now or never: I leaped from my chair, crimson with fear, and roared:

"Sang-kol-in-sen! That lady and her child are under the protection of Her Majesty's Government! Molest them at your peril! I speak for Lord Elgin and the British Army, so � so back off, d'you see?" And for good measure I added: "You dirty dog, you!"

"(gasping) He can talk."

"He can talk, he can talk, he can talk he can talk, he can talk."

Arbite fucked around with this message at 07:43 on Jan 9, 2025

# ? Jan 7, 2025 05:53

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Arbite posted:

"( gasping) He can talk."

"He can talk, he can talk, he can talk he can talk, he can talk."

Troy McClure might have made a better screen Flashman than the egregiously miscast Malcolm McDowell.

I love the buildup and climax of this one. Terrific descriptions of Flashy's mental state as always - chin up, eyes steady, bowels dissolving. Words to live by. The thing is, while he's a terrible person by any metric, his own self-description as a coward is quite inaccurate. He's devoid of any principle and completed centred on self-preservation, but his decision-making in highly dangerous situations is absolutely the stuff of heroes.

tokenbrownguy posted:

ah the part where we all pray someone finally kills this man

This is interesting, I don't know if it's just the general structure of an adventure book, but as these situations arise, I'm not rooting against Flashman at all. I rather want to see him do something at least a tiny bit non-terrible, even if it's for repulsive reasons. Maybe it's because his adversaries are just as bad.

# ? Jan 7, 2025 09:00

Trin Tragula: Apr 22, 2005

The anti-hero must never be hypocritical and must always remain true to themself; this is how they retain the audience's sympathy, no matter what dastardly deeds they do.

Their opponents may have better reputations and espouse nobler goals, but we still prefer to have the anti-hero take us into their confidence and do the things we secretly (and even a little hypocritically) enjoy seeing done.

# ? Jan 7, 2025 12:34

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

It stopped 'em dead in sheer amazement, Dick Dauntless facing the stricken heathen, and I wished Elspeth could have seen me just then�or perhaps, considering what Yehonala looked like, better not. There was a breathless pause, and then Sang went literally mad with rage, howling and lugging out his sword. I yelped and sprang away, turning for the sabre which I knew was on the wall, since Yehonala had indicated it to An last night�and the damned thing wasn't there! Sang's blade whirled in a glittering arc, and I hurled myself aside, bellowing, as it shattered a table in my rear. There was the sabre, three yards along�I leaped and snatched it from the wall, whirling to meet another furious cut, roaring to the Mongol to get on parade, and breaking ground as Sang came after me, frothing like a pi-dog. On clear floor I fell on guard, parrying two cuts to take his measure, and my heart leaped as I realised I'd been right in one vital hope�he couldn't use a sabre to save himself. He was a blind, furious lasher, so I exposed my flank, took the cut on the forte, waited his lurching recovery, and ran him through the left arm. (I ain't Guillaume Danet, you understand, but Sang's swordplay would have broken the troop-sergeant's heart.)

I needn't have fretted about the Mongol. One Tartar was down, with his guts on the rug, and the other was in desperate retreat, with my lad coming in foot and hand. I had a brief glimpse of the room�wailing women stampeding for the arch-way passage leading to the court; Little An carrying the prince and herding them like a fat collie; Yehonala standing half-way, watching us, clutching her fur to her neck�and then Sang was on me again, spraying gore and hewing like a woodman; oh, he was game. Right, you swine, thinks I, this'll read well in the Morning Post, and I went in to kill him. I'd have done it, too, but the cowardly bastard got behind a table, roaring for help; Yehonala suddenly cried out, and I stole a glance behind�there were fur caps and swords in the doorway, with the Mongol charging them. More of Sang's riders, three at the least, but the Mongol was holding them in the narrow entrance; useful chap he was.

"Die hard, Attila!" I roared to encourage him, took a last cut at Sang, and turned to race along the room. Yehonala was at the archway, glancing back anxiously while Little An, who seemed to have got shot of the prince to one of the women, pleaded with her to make haste. I seconded that as I ran, for I wanted no one hindering my line of retreat: "Get out, woman! Run for it! We'll stand 'em off!" By which I meant that the Mongol would, but just as I came level with him, moving smoothly, the mob in the doorway forced him back, and I must turn to cover his flank.

He'd done for the original two, but had taken a couple of cuts in the process, one an ugly gash on the face that was running like a tap. There were four new swords against us, and as the Mongol reeled I could only ply the Maltese Cross for my very life (that's the Afghan's last resort, an up-down-across pattern that no opponent can get by until you fall down exhausted, which happens after about ten seconds, in my condition). Then he recovered, and we retreated shoulder to shoulder for the arch, while Sang came steaming up, with shouts and great action, damning 'em for sluggards but keeping his distance.

A perfect name for a technique that holds off an assault until help arrives, like Malta. Or doesn't, like Rhodes.

quote:

That Mongol was a complete hand. I've never seen a faster big man, and with his tremendous reach he could have given my old chum de Gautet a few minutes' trouble. He fought left-handed, with a short sword in his right, and didn't mind at all taking a cut in a good cause; he stopped one with his bare shoulder, grunted, and chopped like lightning�and there was a head trundling away across the polished floor while the Mongol bayed triumphantly, and the three other Tartars checked aghast and reviewed the position, with Sang going demented.

We were under the arch and into the passage, and since there was room for only one I considerately went first, while Genghiz turned and dared the foemen to come on, clashing his hilts against his mailed chest and howling with laughter. He seemed in such spirits that I left him to it, flying along the passage and round the corner, and not so much as a mouse-hole to hide in, so I must career down the stairs and into the starlit dark of the walled court.

Two horse-palkis were clattering out and away along an avenue of high impenetrable hedges; one remained, and Yehonala was drawing aside its curtain, preparing to climb in but looking back anxiously�for me, I like to think, for she gave a little cry as I appeared. Little An was trying to climb aboard the lead horse and making sad work of it, squealing oaths and slipping under its neck; I heaved him up bodily�it was like handling a mattress full of blancmange�and slapped the beast with the flat of my sabre. It started forward, and as the palki came by Yehonala had the curtain raised; she said nothing, but stretched out her hand; I caught it for a second, and she smiled; then the palki was past, and I got a foot on the shaft and swung aboard the rear horse and we were away, the palki swaying like a hammock between the two beasts. As we lumbered down the avenue, I looked back; the court was empty under the stars, which suggested that my Mongol was still at profitable labour�and if you cry out on me for a deserter, so I am, and you can spare your sympathy for his opponents.

The avenue ran straight for half a mile, and we picked up a good pace. With the panic of action over I was suddenly reeling tired, and trembling at the thought of the risks I'd run; the temptation to sink forward on the horse's mane, sobbing with relief, mastered me for a moment, and then I thought, sit up, you fool, you're still in the wood. The avenue was curving now, and the hedge had thinned to a border of bushes; two furlongs ahead there were lanterns burning, and the helmets of horsemen�Jung Lu's troop waiting on the Jehol road. Time to go, so I swung my leg over, gripped my sabre, and hopped down. The palki faded into the night, there were faint shouts from the gate, and the lanterns were moving up the avenue to meet it.

Author's note posted:

Flashman is clear about the date of Yehonala's departure: the night of October 6-7. At first sight there is an inconsistency here, since other records established that the Emperor and his suite, including Yehonala, left for Jehol on September 22, the day after Flashman's audience with the Emperor. The explanation is provided in Flashman's narrative: Yehonala did leave on the 22nd, and returned two days later (Flashman states that he did not see her for two days after their first meeting, and writes elsewhere that she made a flying visit to Jehol "early in my captivity"). Others of the court also remained at Pekin until the last minute; the Empress Dowager and Prince Kung narrowly escaped the French advance on the Ewen-ming-ewen.

Sometimes I wonder how many of these notes are adjusting an earlier draft with new information.

quote:

Why did I slip my cable when I'd just won the gratitude of a powerful and beautiful woman who was half-crazy about me to start with? Well, I'll tell you: gratitude's a funny thing; do a favour, and often as not you've made an enemy, or at best a grudging friend. Folk hate to feel obliged. And in Yehonala's case, how long would it have been before she remembered how much dangerous knowledge I had of her and her ambitions, and the debt had dwindled into insignificance, with Little An putting in his twopenn'orth of hate?

Perhaps I misjudge her; perhaps she could feel gratitude with the same intensity she gave to her vice, but I doubt it. Gratitude feeds best on love, and the only love she had for me was an insatiable appetite for jolly roger. I, on the other hand, was perfectly ready for a change from Chink-meat�and yet, even now I can feel a stopping of the heart when I see in memory that lovely pale oval mask suspended in the blackness of the palki, smiling at me, and the slim fingers brushing for a moment across mine. Oh, she had a magic, and it's with me still; when I saw her again, forty years later, I was gulping like a boy. That was during the Boxer nonsense, when she was "Old Buddha", still with China helpless in those tiny silver talons. She'd hardly changed�a little plumper in the face, more heavily-painted, but the eye was as bright as a girl's, and the voice�when I heard those soft, singing tones the years fell away, and I was in the Summer Palace, on a sunlit lawn, watching that perfect profile against the dark leaves, listening to the bells across the lake � She didn't recognise the big, silver-whiskered grog-faced ruffian among the diplomatic riff-raff, and I didn't make myself known. We spoke for only a moment; I remember she talked of Western dancing as two people holding hands and jumping all over the room, and then she gave a little sigh and said: "We should have thought it a very � tame amusement, in my young day �" I wonder if she did recognise me?

Anyway, wild horses wouldn't have got me to Jehol; my one thought was the army and safety, so I put the Pole Star just abaft my left shoulder and set off on my last quiet stroll through the Summer Palace; I was close by the boundary, well clear of Sang and his scoundrels�supposing the Mongol hadn't slaughtered them all, with luck�and knew that an hour's easy march should bring me in reach of the Pekin road; there I'd take stock and cast about for our fellows. Mind you, looking back, I was uncommon reckless, for heaven knew what Imps might be loose about the night; but it seemed so quiet and serene under the starlight, with the breeze soft in the branches and long cypress shadows reaching across the lawns, the distant glimmer of a lake, the twinkle of light from a pavilion half-hidden in the groves � I remember thinking as I walked, you'll never find such peace again; you'll forget the blood and terror in which you came to it and came away, and remember only the starlit garden � her place � and call it heaven. As I moved silently up the last slope, I looked back, and there it lay, fairyland on earth, the last Elysium, stretching away in the dawn dark, seen through the misty vision of her face.

It struck me that there might be some good portable loot in the Ewen-ming-ewen, and never a better chance, with the Empress's suite cleared out in haste, and everyone else either fled or occupied with events around Pekin; it wasn't much out of my way, so I slipped swiftly through the trees until I saw the great gold Hall of Audience ahead, and scouted through the bushes for a look-see. And d'you know what�the plundering Froggy bastards had got there first! I heard their racket ahead and couldn't make out who it might be, for our folk couldn't be so close, surely � then I tripped over a dead eunuch, and saw there were about a dozen of 'em, still figures sprawled on the sward towards the great gate; one poor fat sod was clutching a huge ornamental snickersnee of carved ivory, and another had a little lady's bow and golden arrows. And they'd tried to defend their treasure house against European infantry �

Author's Note posted:

About twenty badly-armed eunuchs made a valiant effort to stop the French vanguard, and were shot down.

Snickersnee and swocegian, all sorts of new words in this one.

quote:

The hall entrance was lit by flickering lanterns, and people were hurrying in and out; there were marching feet down by the gate, and then I heard: "Halle! Sac a terre!" and I whooped for joy and ran across the lawn shouting.

There was a young lieutenant posting pickets around the building, and when I'd made myself known he was in a rare frenzy, and I must see his captain, for I was the first prisoner they'd seen, death of his life, and where were the others, l'Abb� and M. Gommelle, and see, mon capitaine, un colonel Anglais, quel ph�nom�ne, avec un glaive et les pantalons Chines. I answered his questions as best I could, and learned that they were the advance guard of a French regiment sent to secure the northern. approach to the city�and what was this place? Le Palais Estival, le residence imp�rial, ma foi! Ici, Corporal From-age, and listen to this! Pardon? Oh, yes, there were British cavalry about somewhere, but in the dark, who knew? Now, if I would excuse him �

I sat on a rocket-box, dog tired, eating bread and issue wine, watching an endless stream of chattering, yelling Frog infantry swarming out of the Hall of Audience, weighed down with bolts of silk, bundles of shimmering dragon robes, jade vases, clocks, jewelled watches, pictures, everything they could lay hands on. Some were wearing women's dresses and hats; I remember one roaring bearded sergeant, with a magnificent cloth of gold gown kilted up above his red breeches, dancing a can-can as his mates yelled and clapped; another was skimming plumed picture hats up in the air like a juggler's plates; my little lieutenant had a cashmere shawl embroidered with tiny gems about his shoulders, and the major was casting a connoisseur's eye over a fine gilt-framed painting and exclaiming that it was a Petitot, as ever was. There were enormous piles of loot growing in the court-yard�silks here, clocks there, paintings over yonder, vases farther on � very orderly in their plundering were our Gallic allies, but what would you? When grandpapa has followed Napoleon, you know how such things should be done, so the French army loot by numbers, with a shrewd eye to quality, while the indiscriminate British will lift (or smash) anything that comes in their way, just for the fun of it.

It was sunrise, and the Frogs were exclaiming over the sight of the Hall of Audience gleaming in the first rays, shading their eyes and running off for a better look, when I managed to collar a mule and set off at a nice amble down the Pekin road. The French were camped everywhere, but only a mile along I struck a troop of Dragoons boiling their dixies by the roadside. No, we weren't in Pekin yet, and Grant intended to force a capitulation by wheeling up his guns to the Anting Gate and putting his finger on the trigger, so to speak; so the campaign was over. I commandeered a horse, and a few minutes later was trotting in to the grounds of a fine temple where advance head-quarters had been set up, and the first thing I saw was Elgin still in his night-shirt, the rising sun gilding his pate, munching a bun and waving a bottle of beer at a big map on an easel, with Hope Grant and the staff ringed round him.

There was a tremendous yell when I hove in view, and a tumult of questions as I slid from the saddle, and fellows slapping me on the back and shouting: "The prisoners are safe!" and hurrahing, and Elgin came bustling to shake my hand, crying:

"Flashman, my dear chap! We'd given you up for dead! Thank God you're safe! My dear fellow, wherever have you been? This is capital! My boy, are you hurt? Have those villains ill-used you?"

G'night everybody!

# ? Jan 9, 2025 08:05

tokenbrownguy: Apr 1, 2010

Trin Tragula posted:

The anti-hero must never be hypocritical and must always remain true to themself; this is how they retain the audience's sympathy, no matter what dastardly deeds they do.

Their opponents may have better reputations and espouse nobler goals, but we still prefer to have the anti-hero take us into their confidence and do the things we secretly (and even a little hypocritically) enjoy seeing done.

Genghis Cohen posted:

This is interesting, I don't know if it's just the general structure of an adventure book, but as these situations arise, I'm not rooting against Flashman at all. I rather want to see him do something at least a tiny bit non-terrible, even if it's for repulsive reasons. Maybe it's because his adversaries are just as bad.

Ya'll are right, this is amazing reading, but...

Arbite posted:

"Flashman, my dear chap! We'd given you up for dead! Thank God you're safe! My dear fellow, wherever have you been? This is capital! My boy, are you hurt? Have those villains ill-used you?"

I'll never forget when he threw that Russian princess what loved him off a moving sled in mid-winter in the hopes of slowing down the pursuing horsemen. :smith:

# ? Jan 9, 2025 08:34

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

tokenbrownguy posted:

Ya'll are right, this is amazing reading, but...

I'll never forget when he threw that Russian princess what loved him off a moving sled in mid-winter in the hopes of slowing down the pursuing horsemen.

Ha, I know what you mean, but that's positively nice by Flashman standards. I think the worst thing was probably selling Cassie into a life of unspeakable sex slavery in a hostile society. It wasn't even betrayal to save his own skin, just for profit and convenience. Throwing Val off the sled? Her own father's Cossacks were in hot pursuit, they were certain to see her fall and save her from any further harm, the worst she might have suffered was bruising (potentially broken bones etc) from the fall. If anything, I thought the reaction to that incident from East was a dig at the adventure story conceit that the hero always saves the beautiful, noble young maiden, or the idea that aristocratic ladies must be protected at all costs. Cause really, they were two prisoners escaping from an enemy country, dropping her off (ideally in less austere conditions) was 100% the correct thing to do, even in Flashy wasn't doing it for good reasons.

# ? Jan 9, 2025 11:20

Darth Walrus: Feb 13, 2012

This book certainly was mostly Flashman at his least objectionable, though, mainly dishing it out to people he had reasonable grievances against, displaying cowardice that could generally pass as sensible caution in dangerous circumstances, and even having the odd faint glimmer of heroism.

# ? Jan 9, 2025 15:31

poisonpill: Nov 8, 2009; The only way to get huge fast is to insult a passing witch and hope she curses you with Beast-strength.

I think MacDonald was probably tired of writing an unredeemable piece of poo poo and just naturally softened the edges. He's protesting more and more about being a bad person, but his actions are mostly pretty unobjectionable. The earlier novels, Flash was mean.

# ? Jan 9, 2025 16:37

Norwegian Rudo: May 8, 2013

There's definitely a slide towards reluctant hero, rather than the abject coward he started out, as the series goes on. In the later books he generally (unwillingly) does the things he receives public acclaim for, rather than cowering in bed and receiving unwarranted credit as in the first book.

# ? Jan 10, 2025 10:22

Trin Tragula: Apr 22, 2005

quote:

while Sang came steaming up, with shouts and great action, damning 'em for sluggards but keeping his distance.

Flashy, of course, would know all about that:

quote:

Here comes Speedicut, and Flashman the School-house bully, with shouts and great action. Won't you two come up to young Brooke, after locking-up, by the School-house fire, with �Old fellow, wasn't that just a splendid scrummage by the three trees?� But he knows you, and so do we. You don't really want to drive that ball through that scrummage, chancing all hurt for the glory of the School-house, but to make us think that's what you want�a vastly different thing; and fellows of your kidney will never go through more than the skirts of a scrummage, where it's all push and no kicking. We respect boys who keep out of it, and don't sham going in; but you�we had rather not say what we think of you.

Game recognises game.

# ? Jan 10, 2025 12:32

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Trin Tragula posted:

Flashy, of course, would know all about that:

Game recognises game.

Nice catch, 100% intentional by the author.

poisonpill posted:

I think MacDonald was probably tired of writing an unredeemable piece of poo poo and just naturally softened the edges. He's protesting more and more about being a bad person, but his actions are mostly pretty unobjectionable. The earlier novels, Flash was mean.

I tend to agree with this. Just as we increasingly identify with our protagonist after many books, Fraser must have developed some kind of affinity for him. There's also the natural pull towards putting dramatic things into the plot. We will happily read several denouements where Flashy schemes, [reluctantly] fights and then flees or lies his way out of the consequences. If the end of each book was him skulking away from the action before it could reach climax (wahey) we'd eventually grow bored.

It is all effectively excused in the text though - at Pipers' Fort, Hudson was the only one who knew him, the Sepoys weren't suspicious as he was a Sahib who'd arrived injured, and in his youthful weakness he was resigned to all of them dying anyway. In situations like riding through the Chinese army a couple chapters ago, when his conduct was basically that of any professional military officer, even if his bowels were secretly dissolving, Flashman just doesn't have anything else he can do. Lying down and claiming he's strained his leg wouldn't have helped him. I find this character development largely convincing, given how critical experience is to how we handle situations. Even for a self-regarded coward, knowledge dispels fear, and by this point Flashman has been there before.

# ? Jan 10, 2025 13:41

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

I couldn't answer, because all of a sudden I felt very weak and wanted to blub. I think it was the kind words�the first I'd heard in ever so long, although it was barely three weeks�and the English voices and everyone looking so cheery and glad to see me, and the anxious glower on Elgin's bulldog face at the thought that I'd been mistreated, and just the knowledge that I was home. Then someone whistled, exclaiming, and they were all staring at the sabre which I'd hung from my saddle, dried blood all over the blade�Sang's blood, and that struck me as ever so funny, for some reason, and I'd have laughed if I'd had the energy. But I just stood mum and choking while they cried out and shouted questions and rejoiced, until Hope Grant shouldered them all aside, pretty rough, even Elgin, and pushed me down on to a stool, and put a cup of tea in my hand, and stood with his hand round my shoulders, not saying a word. Then I blubbed.

Survival apart, the great thing in intelligence work is knowing how to report. Well, you saw that at the start of this memoir, when I danced truth's gossamer tightrope before Parkes at Canton. The principal aim, remember, is to win the greatest possible credit to yourself, which calls not only for the exclusion of anything that might damage you, but also for the judicious understatement of those things which tell in your favour, if any; brush 'em aside, never boast, let appearances speak for themselves. This was revealed to me at the age of nineteen, when I woke in Jalallabad hospital to find myself a hero�provided I lay still and made the right responses. Then, you must convince your chiefs that what you're telling 'em is important, which ain't difficult, since they want to believe you, having chiefs of their own to satisfy; make as much mystery of your methods as you can; hint what a thoroughgoing ruffian you can be in a good cause, but never forget that innocence shines brighter than any virtue ("Flashman? Extraordinary fellow�kicks 'em in the crotch with the heart of a child"); remember that silence frequently passes for shrewdness, and that while suppressio veri is a damned good servant, suggestio falsi is a perilous master. Selah.

Selah?

Selah.

Selah!

Of course in the actual bible Selah is quite rarely used as a punctuating conclusion, but it's good to now know the Clans weren't the first to overuse it as such. You get away with another one, Stackpole!

quote:

I stuck to these principles in making my verbal report to Elgin that afternoon�and for once they were almost completely wasted. This was because the first words I'd uttered, after gulping Grant's tea, were to tell him that there was a vermilion death sentence on Parkes and the other prisoners; this caused such a sensation that, once I'd told all I knew about it (which wasn't much; I didn't know even where they were confined) I was forgotten in the uproar of activity, with diplomatic threats being sent into Pekin, and Probyn ordered to stand by with a flying squadron. And when I sat down with Elgin later, and gave him my word-of-mouth, it was plain that the fate of our people was the only thing on his mind, reasonably enough; my account of the secret intrigues of the Imperial court (which I thought a pretty fair coup) interested him hardly at all.

It cramped my style, which, as I've indicated, tends to be bluff and laconic, making little of such hardships as binding, caging, and starvation. "Oh, they knocked me about a bit, you know," is my line, but he wasn't having it. He wanted every detail of my treatment, and drat the politics; so he got it, including a fictitious account of how they'd hammered me senseless before dragging me, gasping defiance, to audience with the Emperor, so that I didn't remember much about it (that seemed the best way out of that embarrassing episode). I needn't have fretted; Elgin was still grinding his teeth over Sang's threatening me with death by the thousand cuts, and clenching his fist at the butchery of Nolan.

My account of captivity in the Summer Palace, which I'd planned as my pi�ce de r�sistance, fell flat as your hat. I gave him the plain, unvarnished truth, too�omitting only the trifling detail that the Emperor's favourite concubine had been grinding me breathless every night. I believe in discretion and delicacy, you see�for one thing, you never know who'll run tattling to Elspeth. Anyway, I'd have thought my story sufficiently sensational as it was.

He received it almost impatiently, prime political stuff and all. I now realise that, even if he hadn't had the prisoners obsessing him, he still wouldn't have been much interested in all the tattle I'd eavesdropped between Yehonala and Little An�he was there to ratify a treaty and show the Chinese that we meant business; the last thing he wanted was entanglement in Manchoo politics, with himself acting as king-maker, or anything of that sort. He brightened briefly at my description of the set-to with Sang and his braves (which I kept modestly brief, knowing that my blood-stained sabre had already spoken more eloquently than I could), but when I'd done his first question was:

"Excepting Prince Sang's murderous attack, was no violence offered to you at the Summer Palace? None at all? No rigorous confinement or ill-usage?"

quote:

"Hardly, my lord," says I, and just for devilment I added: "The Yi Concubine's ladies did throw apples at me, on one occasion."

"Good God!" cries he. "Apples?" He stared at me. "In play, you mean?"

"I believe it was in a spirit of mischief, my lord. They were quite small apples."

"Small apples? I'll be damned," he muttered, and thought hard for a moment, frowning at the scenery and then at me.

"Did you obtain any inkling of the � purpose for which you were � kept at the house of this � Yi Concubine, did you say?"

"I gathered she had never seen a barbarian before," says I gravely. "She seemed to regard me as a curiosity."

"Damned impertinence!" says he, but I noticed his pate had gone slightly pink. "What sort of a woman is she? In her person, I mean."

I reflected judiciously. "Ravishing is the word that best de-scribes her, my lord. Quite ravishing � in the oriental style."

"Oh! I see." He digested this. "And her character? Strong? Retiring? Amiable, perhaps? I take it she's an educated woman?"

"Not amiable, precisely." I shook my head. "Strong-willed, certainly. Exacting, purposeful � immensely energetic. I should say she was extremely well-educated, my lord."

At this point he noticed that his young secretary, who'd been recording my report, was agog with hopeful interest, so he concluded rather abruptly by saying I'd done extremely well, congratulated me on my safe return, told the secretary to make a fair copy for me to sign, and dismissed me, shooting me a last perplexed look; that business about being pelted with apples by harem beauties had unsettled him, I could see. He wasn't alone, either; outside I found the young pen-pusher blinking at me enviously, obviously wishing that he, too, could be regarded as a curiosity by ravishing orientals.

"I say!" says he. "The Summer Palace must be a jolly place!"

"Damned jolly," says I. "Did you get it all down?"

"I say! Oh, yes, every word! It was frightfully interesting, you know�not at all like most reports." He peered at his notes through steamy spectacles. "Ah, yes � what's a concubine?"

"Harlequin's lady-love in the pantomime � no, don't put that down, you young juggins!

Doubt she would appreciate the comparison to Columbine.

quote:

"...A concubine is a Chinese noble-man's personal whore."

"I say! How d'you spell it?"

I told him�and what he told others in his turn I don't care to think, but just to show you how rumours run and reputations are made, Desborough of the Artillery swore to me later that he'd heard one of his gunners telling his chum that there was no daht abaht it, Flash 'Arry 'ad got isself took prisoner a-purpose, see, 'cos 'e was beloved by this yeller bint, the Empress o' China, an' 'im an' Sam Collinson, wot was jealous, 'ad fought a bloody duel over 'er, an' Flash 'Arry touched the barstid in five places, strite up, an' then cut 'is bleedin' 'ead orf, see?

Strange how close fiction can come to truth, ain't it? The oddest thing of all was that the part of the yarn which did gain some acceptance, among quite sensible people, too, was that I'd deliberately allowed myself to be captured, as a clever way of getting into the enemy's head-quarters. Folk'll believe anything, especially if they've invented it themselves. Anyway, you can see why I don't count my report to Elgin entirely wasted.

And with the funetiks strong return we take a pause before viewing what all this diplomatic clamour has wrought.

# ? Jan 14, 2025 02:14

Arbite: Nov 4, 2009

quote:

Later that day he and Grant and our senior commanders went to the Ewen-ming-ewen, officially to view the splendours, but in fact to make sure that the Frogs didn't pick it clean before our army got its share. I was on hand, and absolutely heard Montauban protesting volubly that no looting whatever had taken place�this with his rascals still streaming out of the Hall of Audience with everything but the floor-tiles, and the piles of spoil filling the great courtyard. Some of our early-comers, I noticed, were already among the plunderers; a party of Sikh cavalry were offering magnificent bolts of coloured silk to the later arrivals at two dollars a time, and the Frogs, who'd had the best of it, were doing a fine trade in jade tablets, watches, jewelled masks, furs, ornamental weapons, enamels, toys, and robes, and finding no lack of takers. The yard was like a tremendous gaudy market, for loot from the other buildings near at hand was being brought in as well, and fellows were bargaining away what they couldn't carry.

Elgin watched in bleak disgust, with Montauban hopping at his elbow crying, ah, but this is merely to make the inventory, is it not, so that all can be divided fairly among the allies; milor' might rest assured that every item would be accounted for, so that all should benefit.

"What a splendid place it has been," says Elgin sadly, standing in the entrance to the great golden hall. "And now, desolation." The floor was covered with broken shards of glass and jade and porcelain, broken cabinetwork and torn hangings, and gangs of Frogs and Chink villagers and our own early birds were swarming everywhere after the last pickings, the vast hollow chamber echoing to their yells of triumph and disappointment, the smashing of furniture and pottery that was too big to carry, the oaths and laughter and quarrelling. "No credit to our vaunted civilisation, gentlemen," says Elgin, and everyone looked sober, except Montauban, who sulked.

"Can't stop it," says Hope Grant, casting a bright professional eye and tugging his whisker. "Soldier's privilege. Time immemorial." He glanced at me. "Remember Lucknow?"

"It is the waste that offends!" cries Elgin. "I daresay this place contained a million yesterday; how much would it fetch now? Fifty thousand? Bah! Plunder is one thing, but sheer wanton destruction �" He shook his head angrily.

Wolseley, consulting a notebook, said that of course this was only a fraction of the Summer Palace, which was of vast extent, no doubt packed with stuff � Flashman probably knew it best of anybody, at which they all fell silent and looked to me; you never in your life saw so many beady eyes. Just for a second I had a vision of that pretty pavilion by the lake, and Yehonala's white hand placing a delicate ivory fairy-piece on the game board just so, the silver nails reflected in the polished jade, her ladies' silken sleeves rustling�and felt a sudden anger and revulsion�but what was the odds, when they'd find it anyway? And why not, after all? We'd won. The irony was that if the Manchoos had kept their word on the treaty to begin with, or even compromised a fortnight ago, we'd never have been near the place.

I said there were hundreds of buildings, palaces and temples and so forth, spread over many miles of parkland; that the Ewen, where we stood, was probably the biggest, since it contained the Imperial apartments, but that the rest was pretty fine, too.

Why slow the pillage?

quote:

"Good spot o' boodle, though, what?" says someone; I said I supposed there'd be enough to go round.

At this there was great debate about the need for prize agents who would select prime pieces for each army, the rest going for individual spoil. Grant said he would have all the British share sold and paid out to the troops as prize money on the spot, rather than wait for government adjudication which (although he didn't say so) would have meant cut shares at the end of the day. Some rear end said that was unauthorised; Grant said he didn't give a dam, he was doing it anyway.

"Who took Pekin?" says he. "Commons committee? No such thing. Our fellows. Very good. Wrath o' the gods? I'll stand bail." He did it, too.

Wolseley, who was a dab artist, was in a fidget to be exercising his pencil, so after the seniors had departed I strolled with him among the buildings, and we watched the looters gutting the place�as Elgin had observed, and I knew from India, they destroyed fifty times what they took away. "See how they enjoy destruction!" says Joe, sketching for dear life while I smoked and studied. "It's a marvellous thing, the effect of plunder on soldiers. I suppose they feel real power for once in their wretched lives�not the power to kill, they know all about that, it's just brute force against a body�but the greater power to destroy a creation of the mind, something they know they could never make. Look at that! Just look at 'em, will you?"

He was pointing up at a gallery where a mob of Whitechapel scruff had found huge boxes of the most delicate yellow eggshell porcelain, priceless pieces varying in size from vases four feet high to the tiniest tea-cups, each wrapped carefully in fine tissue. They were throwing 'em down from the balcony in a golden shower, to smash on the floor in explosions of a million glittering fragments so light that they drifted like a snow-mist through the hall. Those below ran laughing among them, scattering them and making them swirl like golden smoke, yelling to the chaps above to throw down more, which they did until the whole place seemed to be filled with it.

"Can't draw that," grumbles Joe. "Hang it all, Turner himself couldn't catch that colour! Odd, ain't it�that's quite lovely, too."

I suppose it can't speak well of a person to mourn objects more than lives.

quote:

We watched another gang, British, French, and Sikhs, man-handling an enormous vase, twenty feet if it was an inch, all inlaid with dazzling mosaic work, to the top of a flight of steps, poising it with a "One-two-three-and-AWAY!" and hurrahing like mad as it smashed with an explosion like artillery, scattering gleaming shards everywhere. And at the same time there were quiet coves going about methodically examining a jade bowl here and an enamel tablet there, consulting and appraising and dropping 'em in their knapsacks�you know that porcelain statuette on the mantel, or the pretty screen with dragons on it that Aunt Sophie's so proud of? That's what they were picking up, while alongside 'em Patsy Hooligan was kicking a door in because he couldn't be bothered to try the handle, and Pierre Maquereau was grimacing at himself in a S�vres mirror and taking the butt to his own reflection, and Yussef Beg was carving up an oil painting with his bayonet, and Joe Tomkins was painting a moustache on an ivory Venus, haw-hawing while Jock MacHaggis used it as an Aunt Sally, and the little Chinaman from down the road�oh, don't forget him�was squealing with glee as he ripped up cloth-of-gold cushions and capered among the feathers.

And through it all went the quiet strollers, like Joe and me, and the tall fair fellow in the Sapper coat whom we found in a room that had once contained hundreds of jewelled timepieces and mechanical toys, and was now ankle-deep in glittering rubble. He had found an item undamaged, and was grinning delightedly over it.

"I really must have this!" cries he. "She will be delighted with it, don't you think? Such exquisite craftsmanship!" He sighed fondly. "What pleasure to look at a gift for a dear one at home, and think of the joy with which it will be received."

It was one of the little chiming watches, enamelled and inlaid with diamonds; he held it up for Joe and me to look at, exclaiming at the clear tone of the bell.

"See, mama�it rings!" thinks I to myself�dear God, had that been only yesterday? She would be safe in Jehol now, with her dying Emperor and the little son through whom she hoped to rule China. What would she think, when she came back to her beloved Summer Palace?

We complimented the fair chap on his good taste. I'd never seen him before, but I knew him well later on. He was Chinese Gordon.

Whom Flashman would strenuously attempt to avoid on another occasion which set off another adventure. But back it.

quote:

The three of us took a turn in the gardens, and watched a group of enthusiasts digging up shrubs and flowers and sticking them in jade vases filched from the rooms. "I can see these taking splendidly in Suffolk!" cries one. "I say, Jim, if only we can keep 'em alive, what a capital rockery we shall have!" Give him the transport, he'd have had the blasted trees up.

Suddenly I stopped short at the sight of a round doorway in the third palace; it was the one, scarred now with shot-holes. We went in, and the ante-room that had been hung with the Son of Heaven's quilted dragon robes was bare as a cupboard, and not a trace of the musk with which Little An had sprayed me; no wonder, since the soldiery had been pissing on the floor. But here was the little corridor to the Chamber of Divine Repose; the great golden door hung half off its hinges, its precious mouldings stripped away and the handle hacked off. The tortoiseshell plaques of the concubines were scattered about, some of them broken; Gordon turned one over. "What can these be�tokens in some sort of game, d'you suppose?" I said I was fairly sure he was right.

My heart was beating faster as I followed the others into the room; I didn't really want to see it, but I looked about anyway. The filthy pictures and implements of perversion had gone (trust the French), the mattress of the great bed had been dragged from the alcove and hacked to shreds, its purple silks torn, the gold pillows ripped open. But it was the shattered hole in the dressing-table mirror that made me wince; that was where her lovely reflection had looked out at me, while she painted care-fully at her lower lip; that broken stool had supported the wonderful body, with one perfect leg thrust out to the side, the silver toes brushing the carpet. Yet even amid that wreckage, while the others gaped and speculated foolishly about whose room it had been, there was a fierce secret joy about remembering. How the others would have stared if they'd known; Gordon would probably have burst into tears.

I didn't know which was her tortoiseshell plaque, but I took one anyway, slipping it into my pocket with the jewellery and gold I'd picked up on our walk�though none of it compared with the black jade chessmen I collared in the Birthday Garden a couple of days later; no one else would even look at 'em, which showed judgment, since the experts will tell you that black jade doesn't exist. I don't mind; all I know is that while Lucknow paid for Gandamack Lodge, those chessmen bought me the place on Berkeley Square. But I still have the tortoiseshell plaque; Elspeth stands her bedside teapot on it.

Author's note posted:

The looting of the Ewen-ming-ewen by the French, the subsequent visit by Elgin (whose reaction Flashman reports correctly), the generals' conference about dividing the spoil, the participation of British troops and Chinese villagers, the wanton destruction of anything too big to carry, etc., are all confirmed in other accounts; most of the eye-witnesses express sadness, disgust, or horror, but (with the exception of a few, notably Elgin and Grant) seem to have taken their share. Wolseley, who watched the proceedings with an artist's eye, has interesting reflections on the psychology of looting�which, incidentally, is not a subject to be pronounced on by those who have never had the opportunity. (See Wolseley, Swinhoe, Wrong, McGhee.)

Flashman's black jade chess set may well have been a priceless rarity, even if it was probably a black variety of jadeite rather than nephrite. The very existence of "black jade" has been denied (see Encyclopedia Britannica, Eleventh Edition), but there are references to it in Chinese literature, and some black jade carvings are said to be extant, including a knife of the Early Chou Dynasty (1122-722 B.C.) illustrated in S. C. Nott's Chinese Jade (1936).

Interesting that black jade's existance is no longer doubted, nor is it considered terribly remarkable, nephrite or jadeite. I wonder if a large amount was found in the past 50/100 years.

At any rate, that's enough of the cultural devastation, next time back to the human cost.

# ? Jan 18, 2025 09:50

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

It's very interesting to see this time overlap of almost medieval-style looting with more modern ideas. I guess this is mid- rather than late-19th century. But even so it seems odd to see these officers who are all recognisably modern people - Wolseley stays active through the turn of the century - involved in such stuff. Arguably that hypocrisy is central to the whole colonial project, behind the language of diplomatic grievance and this political mission to Beijing, the UK was just forcing another sovereign government to allow the sale of addictive drugs. But it still seems odd, I mean all these guys write their memoirs. What did they say? Friday, negotiated with the barbarous orientals who have treated our prisoners most shockingly. Saturday, nicked some lovely vases.

# ? Jan 19, 2025 07:26

Darth Walrus: Feb 13, 2012

I don't think that looting ever really stopped in major ground wars. Where do you think all that Nazi memorabilia came from?

# ? Jan 19, 2025 08:09

Norwegian Rudo: May 8, 2013

Darth Walrus posted:

I don't think that looting ever really stopped in major ground wars. Where do you think all that Nazi memorabilia came from?

Or destruction. See Iraq for a more recent example.

# ? Jan 20, 2025 10:54

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# ? Nov 7, 2025 12:45

Genghis Cohen: Jun 29, 2013

Darth Walrus posted:

I don't think that looting ever really stopped in major ground wars. Where do you think all that Nazi memorabilia came from?

Well no, but there was a move in Western countries to it being more on the unofficial side. Plenty of units came back from Iraq with statues, flags, golden AKs etc, despite the official policy and the Army searching and confiscating plunder etc. But top generals weren't writing to MPs defending their troops' right to X amount of money in lieu of booty, as they seem to be doing here.

Actually I'd like to know more about Fraser's sources on this. My previous understanding was that the British Army didn't have an official system of prize money (the govt handing sums to the troops to compensate them for what they seized from the enemy) in the way the Royal Navy did. So I know nothing about any official or semi-official systems that existed.

# ? Jan 20, 2025 13:36

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