New around here? Register your SA Forums Account here!

You can: log in, read the tech support FAQ, or request your lost password. This dumb message (and those ads) will appear on every screen until you register! Get rid of this crap by registering your own SA Forums Account and joining roughly 150,000 Goons, for the one-time price of $10! We charge money because it costs us money per month for bills alone, and since we don't believe in shady internet advertising, we try to make the money back through forum registrations.
The Something Awful Forums > The Finer Arts > The Book Barn > A Singularly Unpleasant Creature: Let's Read Flashman!
«‹›37 »
 
  • Post
  • Reply
Arbite
Nov 4, 2009

quote:

"The prisoners are safe!" someone had hollered when I first rode into Elgin's headquarters, supposing that my appearance heralded the return of the others. They weren't, and it didn't, although hopes ran high when Loch and Parkes turned up a day later; they'd been released fifteen minutes before their vermilion death warrant arrived at the Board of Punishments. Whether Yehonala or the mandarin who had special charge of them, Hang-ki, had held it back, or whether they were just plain lucky, we never discovered. They'd had a bad time: Parkes had escaped with binding and hammering, but Loch had been dungeoned and shackled and put to the iron collar, and from what he'd seen he suspected that some of the others had been tortured to death. Whether Elgin had any earlier suspicion of this I can't say; I think he may have, from the way he questioned me about my treatment. In any event, his one thought now was to get them out.

Grant had already positioned his guns against the Anting Gate, and the word went to Prince Kung, the Emperor's brother and regent, that unless Pekin surrendered and the prisoners were released, the bombardment would begin. And still the Chinese put off the inevitable, with futile messages and maddening delays, while Elgin aged ten years under the mortal fear that if he did start shooting, the prisoners would be goners for certain … so he must wait, and hope, and question Parkes and Loch and me again and again about our treatment, and what we thought might be happening to the others.

I'd escaped on the Sunday; Parkes and Loch arrived on the Monday; it was Friday before eight Sikhs and three Frenchmen were set free, and when Elgin had talked to them he came out grey-faced and told Grant that he was to open fire the following noon. At the eleventh hour Kung surrendered—and the following night the first bodies came out.

They came on carts after dark, four of them, two British, two Sikh, and had to be examined by torchlight; when the lids came off the coffins there were cries of horror and disbelief, and one or two of the younger fellows turned away, physically sick; after that no one said a word, except to whisper: "Christ … that's Anderson!" or "That's Mahomed Bux—my daffadar!" or "That's De Normann … is it?" Elgin stopped at each coffin in turn, with a face like stone; then he said harshly to replace the lids, and stood turning his hat in his hands, staring before him, and I saw him biting his lips and the tears shining in the torch-light. Then he walked quickly away, without a word.

Lord Elgin posted:

Pekin,
MY LORD, October 30, 1860.
I HAVE the honour to enclose for your
Lordship's perusal a very interesting and detailed
narrative by Mr. Parkes of the occurrences which
took place while he was detained as a prisoner by
the Chinese authorities.

Painful as is the process by which this experience
is acquired such an incident as the capture
of Mr. Parkes affords us an insight into the work-
ing of the Chinese system which we should never
otherwise probably have obtained.
Mr. Parkes' consistent refusal to purchase his
own safety, by making any pledges, or even by
addressing to me .any representations, which
might have embarrassed me in the discharge of
my duty, is a rare example of courage and
devotion to the public interest, and the course
which he followed in this respect, by leaving my
hands free, enabled me to work out the policy
which was best calculated to secure his own
oelease, as well as the attainment of the national
objects intrusted to my care.
I am, &c.,
ELGIN & KINCARDINE.


The entire Gazette is rather interesting.

quote:

The other bodies came two days later; they had been used in the same fashion, fourteen of them, and if Elgin had given the word, our army would have slaughtered every man in Pekin.

Now, I've never aimed to horrify you for horrifying's sake, or revelled in gory detail with the excuse that I'm just being a faithful historian. But I'm bound to tell you what the Chinese had done, if you are to understand the sequel—and judge it, if you've a mind to.

The bodies were in quicklime, but it was still easy to see what had happened. I told you the Chin
ese tie their captives as tightly as possible, so that eventually the hands and feet burst and mortify; some of our people had been bound for weeks, a few au crapaudine (hands and feet in the small of the back), some hung up, some with heavy chains; many had had their bonds soaked to make them tighter, others had been flogged. I'll add only that if, in a Chinese prison, you get the least cut or scratch … good-night; there's a special kind of maggot, by the million, and they eat you alive, agonisingly, sometimes for weeks. So you see, as I said earlier, there's nothing ingenious about Chinese torture; there don't need to be. They just rot you slowly to death, and the lucky ones are Brabazon and the little French padré, who were beheaded at Pah-li-chao, like Nolan.

"It is the uselessness of it that defeats me. If they had wanted to wring information from us, at least torture would be understandable. But this had no purpose. It was the wanton cruelty of men who enjoyed inflicting pain for its own sake, knowing that if retribution followed, it would not fall on them personally. I mean the Emperor, and Sang, and Prince I, and the like. For the Emperor certainly knew; De Normann's torture began in the royal apartments. Indeed they knew."

This was Harry Parkes, lean and pale but as stubbornly urbane as ever, although his drawl shook a bit when he told me how Loch, when he was sure he was going to die, had sung "Rule, Britannia" to let the others hear; and of Trooper Phipps, who'd kept everyone's spirits up with jokes when he was dying in agony; and Anderson, telling his sowars not to cry out, for the honour of the regiment; and old Daffadar Mahomed Bux, with no hands left, damning his torturers for giving him pork to eat. Even so, Parkes and Loch had more Christian forgiveness towards their captors than I care for; given my way, I'd have collared Sang and Prince I and the whole foul gang, and turned 'em over to the wives and daughters of our Afghan troopers, if I'd had to drag 'ern the whole way to Peshawar to do it.

Author's Note posted:

On the treatment of the prisoners and the return of the bodies, Flash-man is scrupulously exact. (See Loch and others, with the depositions of Daffadar Jawalla Singh and Sowars Khan Singh and Bugel Singh, all of Fane's Horse.)

quote:

What riled everyone was that the Chinks had been careful to surrender on terms before we'd seen the bodies, so there was no hope of the mandarins being punished as they deserved. How to make 'em pay—that was the question that ran through the army camped before Pekin, and Elgin sent word to Kung that there'd be no talk of treaty-signing, or indeed any talk at all, until he'd decided how to avenge our people. Diplomatic clap-trap, thinks I; we'll let the swine get away with it, as usual. I didn't know the Big Barbarian.

He took a day to think about it, brooding alone under the trees in the temple garden, wearing a face that kept us all at a distance, except Grant. He and Elgin talked for about an hour—at least Elgin did, while Grant listened and nodded and presently retired to his tent to put his bull fiddle through its paces something cruel. "That's his way of beating his wife," says Wolseley. "Summat's in the wind that he don't like—who's going to inquire, eh?" No one else volunteered, so during a pause in the cacophony I loafed in and found him staring at the manuscript on his music stand, with his pencil behind his ear. I asked what was up.

"Finished," says he. "Not right. Can't help it."

"What's finished and not right?"

"Quartet. Piano, violins, and 'cello." He grunted impatiently. "Journeyman work. Just to have to perform it. See what's amiss then."

"Oh, absolutely," says I. "It'll come right, I daresay, if you keep whistling it to yourself. But, general sahib … what's Elgin going to do?"

He turned those bright eyes and tufted brows on me, for about three minutes, and picked up his bull fiddle. "Man's in torment," says he. "Difficult." He began to saw away again, so I gave up and went back to the mess to report failure.

We weren't kept long in suspense. The last bodies came in next day, and after he'd seen them Elgin called an immediate meeting of all the leading men from both armies, with Baron Gros, the French envoy, sharing the table-top with him, and Parkes, Loch, and myself sitting by. He was wearing his frock-coat, which was a portent, since he was used to roll about in flannels and open neck, with a cricket belt and a handkerchief round his head. But he seemed easy enough, pouring a lemonade for Gros, asking if Montauban's cold were any better, making his opening statement in a quiet, measured way—just from his style, I was positive he'd memorised it carefully beforehand.

"It is necessary," says he without preamble, "to mark in a manner that cannot soon be forgotten, the punishment we are bound to award for the treachery and brutality which have characterised the Chinese Emperor's policy, and which have resulted in the cruel murder of so many officers and men. Of the Emperor's personal implication, and that of his leading mandarins, there can be no doubt. So, while the punishment must be apparent to the whole Chinese Empire, I am most anxious that it should fall, and be seen to fall, only on the Emperor and his chief nobles, who were fully aware of, and responsible for, these atrocious crimes."

He paused, looking round the table, and I wondered for a moment if he was going to propose hanging the pack of 'em, Emperor and all; the same thought may have been exercising Gros (a genial snail-eater who'd endeared himself to our troops by calling out: " 'Allo, camarades, cheer-o!" whenever they saluted him). He was wearing a worried frown, but Elgin's next words should have put his mind at rest.

"It is manifestly impossible to proceed directly against the persons of the culprits, even if we wished to, since they are beyond our reach. Considering the temper of the army—which, I confess, expresses my own feeling—that is perhaps as well. It remains to punish them by other means. Them and them alone."

Well, we'll see how he squares that circle next time! Also, are there any recordings of General Grant's music?

* # ? Jan 22, 2025 23:16
  • Quote
Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? Nov 15, 2025 00:13
  • Quote
Arbite
Nov 4, 2009

quote:

He glanced at Gros, who came in nineteen to the dozen to say that milor' was bowling a perfect length, it leaped to the eye, the offenders must be made to account for their conduct unpardonable, and no nonsense. It remained only to determine a suitable method of expressing the just indignation of the Powers, and to -

"Precisely, monsieur le baron," says Elgin. "And I have so determined. After careful deliberation, I can see only one way to mark to the Chinese Empire, and to the whole world, our abhorrence of these wanton and cruel acts of treachery and bloodshed. I am therefore requesting the Commander-in-Chief —" he nodded towards Grant—"to take the requisite steps for the complete destruction of the Summer Palace."

My first thought was that I hadn't heard right; my second, what a perfectly nonsensical idea: someone murders twenty people, so you plough up his garden. Others seemed to share my thoughts: Gros and Montauban were staring blank bewilderment, Parkes was looking thoughtfully at the sky, Hope Grant was pursing his lips, which in him was the equivalent of leaping up and beating his forehead; Loch's mouth was open. Gros was just drawing breath when Elgin went on:

"Before you respond, gentlemen, permit me to observe that this is no hasty decision. It is based on what seem to me to be compelling reasons." The bulldog face was expressionless, but he tapped a finger to emphasise each point. "Bear in mind that we have no quarrel with the people of China, who are in no way to blame; they do not suffer by this penalty. The Emperor and nobles suffer by the loss of their most precious possession; they suffer also in their pride because their punishment, and their sole guilt, are made plain for the world to see, and the Chinese people are made aware of their Emperor's shame. Nothing could show more clearly that he is not omnipotent, as he pretends; nothing could demonstrate so clearly our detestation of his perfidy and cruelty."

He sat with his hands flat on the table, waiting for the storm of protest which he guessed was coming from Gros, and perhaps as much from pique at not being consulted beforehand, as from genuine disapproval, the normally amiable little Frenchman weighed in like a good 'un.

"Milor'! I am astonished! It grieves me extremely to have to disagree with your lordship before these gentlemen assembled, but I cannot accept this … this extraordinary proposal! It … it … appears to me to have no relevance, this! It is … unthinkable." He took a deep breath. "I must beg your lordship to reconsider!"

"I have, monsieur le baron," says Elgin quietly. "With great care, I assure you."

"But … forgive me, milor', you appear to contradict your-self! You say we must punish the Emperor—with which I and all agree—but not the people of China! Yet you propose the destruction, the desecration of a … a national shrine of China, the repository of its ancient civilisation, its art, its culture, its genius, its learning!" He was in full Gallic spate by now, all waving hands and eyebrows, bouncing in his chair. "What is this but an insult, of the most gross, to the very soul of China?"

"If it were that, I should not have proposed it," says Elgin. "The Summer Palace is not a shrine of any kind, unless to Imperial luxury and vanity. It is the Emperor's private pleasure park, and not one of the millions of ordinary Chinese has ever been inside it, or cares a straw for it and its treasures. If they think of it at all, it must be as a monument to human greed, built on extortion and suffering. China has bled to make that place, and China will not weep for its loss, believe me, monsieur le baron."

The fact that he said this as though he'd been reading the minutes of the last meeting, did nothing to cool Gros's indignation. He gasped for breath, and found it.

"And the treasures, then? Are they nothing? The irreplaceable works of art, the sublime craftsmanship, the priceless carvings and paintings and jewellery? Are they to be vandalised, to signal our abhorrence of the crime of a few guilty noblemen? Are we to punish their barbarism by an act infinitely more barbaric? By destroying a thing of infinite beauty, of incalculable value? It is … it is out of all proportion, milor'!"

"Out of proportion?" For the first time there was a touch of colour on Elgin's cheek, but his voice was even quieter than before. "That is a matter of opinion. A few moments ago you and I, monsieur le baron, looked on something which had been infinitely more beautiful, and of incalculably greater value than anything ever created by a Chinese architect: the body of a soldier of the Queen. His name was Ayub Khan. You saw what Chinese civilisation had done to him —"

"Milor', that is not just!" Gros was on his feet, white-faced. "You know very well I am as enraged as yourself at the atrocities committed upon our people! But I ask you, what can it profit your good soldier, or any other of those martyred, to take revenge in this fashion, by destroying … something with which they, and their deaths, had nothing to do?"

"Please, sir, take your seat again," says Elgin rising, "and with it my assurance that I intended no reflection on your humanity or your concern for our dead comrades." Didn't you, though, thinks I. He waited until Gros had sat down again. "There is no way to profit, or adequately to avenge them. My purpose is to punish their murderers in a way that will best bring down their pride and publish their infamy. That is why I shall burn the Summer Palace, unless your excellency can suggest a suitable alternative."

Poor Gros stared at him helplessly, and waved his hands. "If it seems good to destroy some building—why, then, let it be the Board of Punishments, where the crimes were committed! What could be more fitting?"

"I've heard that suggestion," says Elgin dryly. "It emanated, I believe, from the Russian Mission at Pekin—to burn the Board and erect a suitable memorial on the site to Chinese perfidy. I can think of nothing better calculated to inflame hatred of our two countries among ordinary Chinese. I hesitate, of course, to conclude that that is why the Russians suggested it. You would say, monsieur le baron?"

"Only … only …" Gros shrugged in real distress. "Ah, milor', you think only of the effect on the Emperor and the others! But consider another effect—on the honour of our countries and ourselves! Think how such an act will be regarded in the world! It is not the Emperor of China who will be disgraced by what all civilised peoples must see as a … as a barbarism, grassier, incivilisé! Are we to bear the brand of Attila and Alaric, merely to punish the Emperor's vanity?" And possibly encouraged by the approving cries of his own folk, and the doubtful looks of some of ours, the silly rear end put his great Frog foot right in it. "Ah, surely, milor', you of all men must be aware of what … of what public opinion …" Realising his gaffe, he broke off, shaking his head. "Ah, Dieu! The destruction of precious works of art is not well regarded!" he finished snappishly.

Even the other Frogs were trying to look elsewhere; Parkes, beside me, sighed and murmured something about "Gros by name and nature, what?" Well, everyone knew how Elgin's guvnor had stripped half Greece of statuary; even then Elgin Marbles was a slogan of outrage among Hellenic enthusiasts. The only person present who didn't seem to mind was Elgin himself. For the first time in days, he absolutely grinned.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpmeZvyqXdE
Thanks Ian, you're the best.

quote:

"I had no notion," says he affably, "from the conduct of your troops at the Ewen-ming-ewen, that such a sentiment prevailed in France —"

"Milor'!" Montauban was wattling furiously, but Elgin didn't mind him.

"If stigma there be," he went on, talking straight to Gros, "I shall be content to bear it alone, if I must. It will be a small thing compared to the wound dealt to the pride and false glory of the creature who calls himself Emperor of China."

"And if it wounds him, as you hope," cries Gros. "If you so disgrace him in the eyes of his subjects, have you considered it may mean the downfall of the Manchoo dynasty?" He was on his feet again, all frosty dignity. Elgin rose with him, all John Bull.

"If I thought that, monsieur le baron," says he, "I should be in the Summer Palace this minute, with a torch and a bundle of straw. Alas, I fear it will have no such consequence."

Gros bowed stiffly. "Milor' Elgin, I must officially inform you that my government cannot associate itself with a policy which we must consider ill-advised, disproportionate, and—I have to say it, deeply as I deplore the necessity … uncivilised." He looked Elgin in the eye. "Monsieur, it is cruel."

"Yes, sir," says Elgin quietly. "It's meant to be."

When the French had stalked off, Elgin sat down and passed a hand across his forehead; suddenly he looked very tired. "Aye, weel," says he heavily, "a stoot he'rt tae a stae brae—eh, Loch? Now, Grant, which troops shall do the work?"

They settled on Michel's division, the destruction to begin two days hence. Loch was instructed to write the letter of information to Prince Kung, and the proclamation for general distribution; I was interested that neither referred to the deaths of our people, but only to the Emperor's treachery and bad faith—that, officially, was why the Summer Palace was to be destroyed, to show "that no individual, however exalted, could escape the responsibility and punishment which must always follow acts of falsehood and deceit."

"Here endeth the lesson," says Parkes to me. "He means to rub it into the Emperor, rather."

"The Emperor don't know a dam' thing about it," says I. "The fellow's an idiot—probably a dead idiot, by now."

"You don't really care for this, do you?" says he, eyeing me.

"Me?" I shook my head. "Tain't my house and flower-beds."

He laughed. "I don't like it, much, myself. My suggestion was for a thumping fine, and the surrender to our justice of the actual murderers—the jailers and tormentors who did the work, and in particular one gross brute who took the keenest satisfaction in pulling my hair out by the roots. H.E. pointed out, correctly, that a fine would inevitably fall on the populace, and that the jailers were merely doing what they were bidden by fiends like Sang. Also, that they probably wouldn't be handed over—they'd send us a batch of condemned convicts, and who would know the difference?" He looked to where Elgin was sitting, hands in pockets, talking to Grant. "In fact, he's dead right. This will accomplish what he wants to do."

"Teach the Emperor a lesson, you mean?" says I, not greatly interested.

"Oh, no. He's teaching China. The word will go to the ends of the Empire—how the barbarians came, and smashed the chalice, and went away. And for the first time all China will realise that they're not the world's core, that their Emperor is not God, and that the dream they've lived in for thousands of years, is just … a dream. Gros was right—it'll bring down the Manchoos, no error; not today, perhaps not for years, but at last. The mystery that binds China will go up in smoke with the Summer Palace, you see. And just by the way—China will break no more treaties; not in our time."

I thought about Yehonala, and wondered if he was right. As it turned out, he was, almost; China was quiet for forty years, until she roused the Boxers against us. And now the Manchoos are gone, and who'll deny that it was the fire that Elgin kindled that made China's millions think thoughts they'd never thought before?

He called me over presently, and asked—not ordered, mark you, but asked, which wasn't his usual style—if I'd mind going with Michel as guide, so that no buildings were missed. "You know the Summer Palace better, I daresay, than any European living," says he. "Had that occurred to you?" It hadn't, as it happened. "But the duty's not distasteful to you, Flashman?" I said I didn't mind.

Grant had gone off, and we were alone by the table in the temple garden. He gave me a keen look, and then fell to examining the peeled skin on the back of his hand, smiling a little.

"I seem to sense some disapproval in my staff," says he, "but since I dislike embarrassment almost as much as I dislike contradiction, I have borne it in silence. A chief of intelligence, however, has an obligation to be forthright. Do you agree with Gros?"

Once on a day I'd have cried no, my lord, you're entirely right, my lord, burn the bugger hull and sticks, my lord, like a good little toady. But it's better fun to tell the truth, when it can't hurt, and is bound to cause devilment. So I said:

"No, my lord. I'm sure your decision is correct." I waited until he was looking at me to see that I meant it, and then added: "But in your position, I'd not burn the Summer Palace."

He stared at me, frowning. "I don't understand, Flashman. You think it right … but you wouldn't do it? What can you mean?"

"I mean I wouldn't dare, my lord." I do love to stir 'em up; oh, I'll fry in hell for it. "You see, Gros is right in one thing: it'll get a dam' bad press. And I'd not care to have Punch labelling me Harry the Hun."

His jaw jerked at that, and for a moment I thought he was going to explode. Then he gave a jarring laugh. "By God," says he, "you're an uncomfortable man! Well, you're honest, at least. Which is more than can be said for the French, who have already looted the place, but take care to escape the odium for its destruction. Ha! And while crying `Philistine!' they and the other Powers will be happy enough to enjoy the trade benefits and safe commerce which our salutary action will have ensured." He folded his arms, leaning back, and gave me a bleak look. "Harry the Hun, indeed. They'll have no need to coin a nick-name for me; the Chinese have done it for them, have they not?"

The Big Barbarian, he was thinking; he knew what to expect, but it had rattled him to have me state it so bluntly—which is why I'd done it, of course. Yet he wasn't altogether displeased; I wondered if he wasn't glad, in a way, to be bearing the blame alone. He was odd fish, was Elgin. He was no vandal, certainly; indeed, bar Wolseley, he was probably the most sincere lover of the arts in the army—not that I'm an authority, you under-stand; give me Rubens and you can keep the rest. So how could he bring himself to destroy so much that was rare and beautiful and valuable? I'll tell you. He was avenging our dead with cold-blooded fury, striking at their murderers (the Emperor, Sang, Prince I, and—although he didn't know it—Yehonala, who probably shaped Imperial policy more than all the rest) in the way he knew would hurt them most. For he was right there; he knew the Chinese mind; he was hitting 'em where they lived—and putting the fear of God into China, too.

But I suspect he had another reason, which he may not have admitted to himself: I believe that the Summer Palace offended Elgin; that the thought of so much luxury and extravagance for the pleasure of a privileged, selfish few, while the coolie millions paid for it and lived in squalor, was too much for his Scotch stomach. Odd notions for a belted earl, you think? Well, perhaps I'm wrong.

Author's Note posted:

Whether Flashman is right in his examination of Elgin's motives, he has at least set out clearly the chain of events which led to the decision to burn the Summer Palace, and the arguments which were advanced for and against at the time. And he has done this so fully that there is little to add. Whether Elgin was justified of his act of calculated vandalism is a question which may be set as an interesting historical exercise, but not in the hope of receiving a satisfactory answer. Such matters are simply not to be judged at a distance. It is abominable to destroy priceless works of art; against that, Elgin was faced with the necessity of making a gesture which would not only have the effect of punishment but of inculcating a lesson, and of securing future peace and security so far as he could see; his time and means were limited. His critics cannot merely say he was wrong; they must say what else he could have done, and they must show that it would have been equally effective.

It is also necessary to bear in mind the personality of he man himself, and to put aside the idea that the burning was an act of mindless imperial barbarism (of course, it can be cited as a splendid example of just that, for the purpose of debate, provided all the facts of the case are not deployed). Mindless, it certainly was not. James Bruce was no unthinking vandal; far from it, he was almost the last man to do such a thing. It is not possible to say that he felt no primitive desire for revenge; if he did, he had cause, but not enough to cloud the judgment of an experienced and responsible statesman who was also a sensitive and decent man. Elgin was enlightened beyond his day (his words on imperialism, treatment of foreign races, and his country's high-handedness, spoken at his first interview with Flashman, are to be found in his writings); to some of his contemporaries (though to fewer than modern revisionists seem to realise) he may have seemed almost heretical. He knew, too, that in judging his act, the world would not forget the Elgin Marbles acquired by his father. It took a brave man to burn the Summer Palace. He hated doing it; he does not mention it in letters to his wife, and there is a gap in his correspondence from October 14 to 26, when he notes that he has not been keeping his journal lately. But, knowing the circumstances as only he could know them, he did at Pekin what he thought best, and it worked. Whether the end justified the means is a matter of opinion. Barbaric is a fair word to apply to the deed; it is not, paradoxically, a fair word to apply to the Big Barbarian.

The reactions of his subordinates are interesting. Loch plainly felt guilty about it. McGhee regretted it, but thought it necessary. Wolseley, the artist and art collector, was saddened by it; he had strong views on looting, and paid for his share, although he is said to have been given a Petitot picture by a French officer. The impenetrable Hope Grant refused any share of loot, but insisted that his troops should receive their proper entitlement (which came to about £4 a head). Gordon wrote of pillaging and destroying "in a vandal-like manner"; it was "wretchedly demoralising work". But he noted succinctly: "Although I have not as much as many, I have done well." Since his loot included furs, jade, enamel, and part of a throne, he obviously had. But whatever their opinion of the burning, most of the British felt that the French had got the best of the loot, although Wolseley may have been nearer the truth when he estimated that the Chinese villagers had plundered more than the British and French combined.

And now another of Flashmans great ruminations.

quote:

Tragedy usually has a fair element of farce about it, and this was seen next day when the mass funeral of our dead took place at the Russian Cemetery, outside Pekin. As Elgin observed, the French had a wonderful time, making speeches in bad taste and following their usual practice of firing the final volleys into the grave and not over it. Chinese observers were heard to remark that this was to make sure the corpses were dead. There were Protestant, Roman, and Greek priests officiating together, which looked odd enough, but the sight I wouldn't have missed was Hope Grant taking part in Papist rituals, sprinkling holy water at Montauban's request, and plainly enjoying it as much as John Knox in a music hall.

We began to burn the Summer Palace the day after. Michel's division marched up to the Ewen-ming-ewen gate, where they were split into parties, furnished with crowbars, sledges, axes, and combustibles, and despatched under their officers to chosen spots in the four great gardens—the Enclosed and Beautiful, the Golden and Brilliant, the Birthday, and the Fragrant Hills. I rode round to the Birthday Garden entrance, because I had no great desire to view the whole splendid panorama again from the Ewen slope before the fires were lighted. It was a glorious day; there wasn't a soul to be seen, and the park seemed to glow in the sunlight, the great beds of flowers and avenues of shrubs had never been so brilliant, or the lawns so green; a little breeze was ruffling the waters of the lake and stirring the leaves in the woods; her pavilion gleamed white among its trees, the birds were singing and the deer posing in the sunshine, and there was such a perfume on the warm air as you might breathe in paradise. From a long way off I caught the first drift of wood-smoke.

Then there were distant voices, and the soft tramp of feet, and someone calling the step, sounding closer, and the stamp as they halted, and the clatter of crowbars and hammers being grounded. And a voice sings out: "Which 'un fust, sir?" and "Over there, sarn't!" and "Right you are, lads! This way!" and the first smash of timber.

I'm a bad man. I've done most wickedness, and I'd do it again, for the pleasure it gave me. I've hurt, and done spite, and amused myself most viciously, often at the expense of others, and I don't feel regret enough to keep me awake of nights. I guess, if drink and the devil were in me, I could ruin a Summer Palace in my own way, rampaging and whooping and hollering and breaking windows and heaving vases downstairs for the joy of hearing 'em smash, and stuffing my pockets with whatever I could lay hands on, like the fellows Wolseley and I watched at the Ewen. I'd certainly have to be drunk—but, yes, I know my nature; I'd do it, and revel in the doing, until I got fed up, or my eye lit on a woman.

But I couldn't do it as it was done that day—methodically, carefully, almost by numbers, with a gang to each house, all ticked on the list, and smash goes the door under the axes, and in tramp the carriers to remove the best pieces, and the hammermen to smash the rest with sledges, and the sappers to knock out a few beams and windows for draught, and set the oily rags and straw just so, and "Give us one o' your fusees, corporal … right … fall in outside!" And then on to the next house, while behind the flames lick up, blistering the enamels, cracking the porcelain, charring the polished wood, blackening the bright paint, smouldering the silks and rugs, crackling under the eaves. Next to the wreck of a human body, nothing looks so foul as a pretty house in its setting, when the smoke eddies from the roof, and the glare shines in the windows, and the air shakes with the heat.

That was how it was done, by word of command, one place after another, tramp-tramp-tramp, smash-smash-smash, burn-burn-burn, by men who didn't talk much, or swear, or laugh—that was the uncanny thing. British soldiers can make a jest of anything, including their own deaths; but no one joked in the Summer Palace. They went about it sour-tempered, grudging; I'd say they were heartsick, or just plain dull and morose. I remember one North Country voice saying it seemed a reet shame to spoil that many pretty things, but the only other note of protest came in a great set-to when some woods caught fire, and a red-faced fellow comes roaring:

"What the hell are you about, sir? Your orders are to burn buildings! That's good timber—fine trees, damnation take you! Are you a madman, or what?" And the reply: "No, sir, I'm not! But in case it's escaped your notice, bloody trees are made of bloody wood, you know, which commonly burns when exposed to bloody fire, and d'you expect me to race about catching all the bloody sparks?"

Now the curious thing about this was that one of the speakers was Major-General Sir John Michel, and the other a private soldier, gentleman-ranker, and they cussed each other blind, with no thought of discipline—and no reprisals, either. It was a strange day, that.

Later I remember the rending sound of roofs caving in, and the great rush of flames, the red glare of fire on bare chests and sweat-grimed faces, the harsh crackling and the foul stench as choking smoke drifted across the lawns, blotting out the lakes and flowers, the weary shouts and hoarse commands as the gangs moved on to the next little white jewel among the trees.

I've said I couldn't have done it—which is to say I wouldn't, for choice, but could if I had to, just as I've packed Dahomey slaves when needful. The Summer Palace was just about as sickly as that, but I watched, for curiosity, and because there was nothing else to do—Michel's men seemed to find the houses without my assistance. And it was curiosity that took me up the Ewen slope, towards evening, to look back on the great pall of smoke, many miles in extent, covering the country to the distant hills, with ugly patches of flame behind it, and here and there a break where you could see a blazing building, or a smouldering ruin, or a patch of burning forest, or virgin parkland, or a pool of dull grey water that had been a shining lake, or even a white palace, untouched amid the green. It looked pretty much like hell.

I'm not saying Elgin was wrong; it achieved what he wanted, without his having to break down a door or smash a window or set a match. That's the great thing about policy, and why the world is such an infernal place: the man who makes the policy don't have to carry it out, and the man who carries it out ain't responsible for the policy. Which is how our folk were tortured to death and the Summer Palace was burned. Mind you, if that wasn't the case, precious little would ever get done.

But didn't a tear mist my eye, or a lump rise in my throat; didn't I turn away at last with a manly sob? Well, no. Yes, as the chap remarked, it was a shame so many pretty things were spoiled—but I'm no great admirer of objets d'art, myself; they just bring out the worst in connoisseurs and female students. But even you, Flashman, surely to God, must have been moved at the destruction of so much beauty, in a spot where you had spent so many idyllic hours? Well, again, no. You see, I don't live there; I'm here, in Berkeley Square, and when I want to visit the Summer Palace, I can close my eyes, and there it is, and so is she.
* # ? Jan 26, 2025 01:45
  • Quote
mllaneza
Apr 28, 2007

Veteran, Bermuda Triangle Expeditionary Force, 1993-1952




 Wow.

Thanks for the modern photos.

* # ? Jan 26, 2025 07:32
  • Quote
tokenbrownguy
Apr 1, 2010

mllaneza posted:

Wow.

Thanks for the modern photos.
* # ? Jan 26, 2025 15:23
  • Quote
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 was the other piece of the book that is burned into my memory. It’s honestly a really thoughtful look at the whole episode

* # ? Jan 26, 2025 15:24
  • Quote
feedmegin
Jul 30, 2008

Genghis Cohen posted:

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.

And being supercargo on a literal slave ship (and, though he doesn't talk about it in those terms, raping one of the female slaves on it himself).

* # ? Jan 27, 2025 17:02
  • Quote
Arbite
Nov 4, 2009

quote:

It burned for almost a week, with a vast pillar of smoke a mile high in the windless air, like some great brooding genie from a bottle, spreading his pall across the countryside; Pekin was a city in twilight, its people awestricken to silence. To them it was incredible, yet there it was, and they saw it, and believed at last. If we hadn't burned it, but had merely occupied Pekin for a season and gone away again, I don't doubt that in no time the Manchoo propagandists would have convinced the population that we'd never been there at all. But with the Summer Palace in flames they couldn't doubt the truth—the barbarians had won, the Son of Heaven had been humbled to the dust, and there was the funeral pyre to prove it.

As some callous scoundrel remarked—and it may have been me, by the sound of it—at least The Times couldn't complain that Elgin hadn't avenged their correspondent properly; poor young Bowlby having been one of the Emperor's victims, you see. That smoke spread, metaphorically, all over the world, and some called Elgin a Visigoth, and others said he'd done the right thing, but one of the warmest debates was over exactly what he had done. Most folk still believe that one great palace building was burned; in fact, there were more than two hundred destroyed, to my knowledge, with most of their contents and great areas of woodland and garden. Some, like Loch, have softened it as best they can by claiming that many buildings and much treasure escaped, that some palaces were only half-burned(!), that few manuscripts were lost, and that the damage was less than it looked. The plain truth is that the great Summer Palace, eight miles by ten, was a charred ruin, and if Lloyds had been faced with the bill they'd have shut up shop and fled the country.

The lesson was driven home with the usual Horse Guards pomp when the convention was signed a few days later, Kung having had to agree to everything we demanded, including £100,000 for the families of our dead. Elgin, looking like Pick-wick strayed into an Aladdin pantomime, was toted through the streets of Pekin in an enormous palanquin by liveried Chinese, with our troops lining the route for three miles to the Hall of Ceremonies, the band playing the National Anthem, an escort of infantry and cavalry hundreds strong, and the senior men mounted in full fig, wearing that curious ceremonial expression of solemn intensity, as though they were trying not to fart. I can't be doing with Hyde Park soldiering; it looks so dam' ridiculous, when anyone can see with half an eye that it costs more time and trouble and expense than fighting a war, and the jacks-in-office and hangers-on who take part plainly think it's a whole heap more important. I'd abolish the Tin Bellies and Trooping the Colour, if I had my way. But that's by the by; the public love it, and there's no question it awed the Chinese; they gazed at Elgin in stricken silence, and knocked head as he went by.

Well, sixty years later he would get half of half his wish. And then half again seventy after that.

quote:

The treaty was signed with tremendous ceremony, before a great concourse of mandarins in dragon robes, and ourselves in dress uniforms, Elgin looking damned disinheriting and poor little Prince Kung plainly scared out of his wits by Beato's camera, which he seemed to think was some kind of gun. (The picture never came out, either.) It was infernally dull and went on for hours, both sides loathing each other with icy politeness, and the only possibility of fun was when Parkes, that imperturbable diplomat, spotted the chap who'd pulled his hair, standing among the Chinese dignitaries, and I believe would have gone for him then and there, if Loch, the spoilsport, hadn't restrained him. (Parkes got his revenge, though; he had Prince I turned out of his splendid palace, and bagged it for the new British Embassy.)

Final Author's Note posted:

Flashman disagrees here with Loch, who says that this incident, when Parkes unexpectedly came face to face with his tormentor, the President of the Board of Punishments, took place three days earlier, on October 21.

Thank you for that last bit of precision Mr. Fraser.


quote:

And then, quite suddenly, it was all over. Elgin had his piece of paper, with red seals and yellow ribbon; China and Britain were sworn to eternal friendship; our traders were free to deluge the market with pulse, grain, sulphur, saltpetre, cash, opium (ha-ha!),



Ha-ha!

quote:

brimstone, and even spelter; there were a few hundred new graves along the Peiho (Moyes at Tang-ku and Nolan at Pah-li-chao among them); the Summer Palace was a smoking ruin; in Jehol a dainty silver finger-nail was poised to pin the Chinese Empire; and I was going down-river on Coromandel, with Elgin's kindly note of appreciation in my pocket, a black jade chess set in my valise, and a few memories in mind.

So often it's like that, when the most vivid chapters end; the storm of war and action hurtles you along in blood and thunder, seeking vainly for a hold to cling to, and then the wind drops, and in a moment you're at peace and dog-tired, with your back to a gun-wheel at Gwalior, or closing your eyes in a corner seat of the Deadwood Stage, or drinking tea contentedly with an old Kirghiz bandit in a serai on the Golden Road, or sitting alone with the President of the United States at the end of a great war, listening to him softly whistling "Dixie".

:smith:

President Lincoln posted:

I propose now closing up by requesting you play a certain piece of music or a tune. I thought "Dixie" one of the best tunes I ever heard ... I had heard that our adversaries over the way had attempted to appropriate it. I insisted yesterday that we had fairly captured it ... I presented the question to the Attorney-General, and he gave his opinion that it is our lawful prize ... I ask the Band to give us a good turn upon it.

A shorter update but we'll be finishing the text next time!

* # ? Jan 29, 2025 01:58
  • Quote
Genghis Cohen
Jun 29, 2013

Arbite posted:

A shorter update but we'll be finishing the text next time!

Lovely stuff as ever, but man, we never read those references but we feel a pang of regret for the ACW book that might have been. Fraser's version of Lincoln was a great foil to Flashman.

* # ? Jan 29, 2025 23:37
  • Quote
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.

Genghis Cohen posted:

Lovely stuff as ever, but man, we never read those references but we feel a pang of regret for the ACW book that might have been. Fraser's version of Lincoln was a great foil to Flashman.
* # ? Jan 30, 2025 00:04
  • Quote
Arbite
Nov 4, 2009

quote:

So it was now—for that's my China story done, save for one curious little postscript—and I could loaf at the rail, looking forward to a tranquil voyage home to Elspeth and a gentleman's life, far away from mist and mud and rice-paddy and dry-dung smells and Tiger soldiers and silk banners and nightmare Banner-men and belching ornamental cannon and crazy Taipings and even crazier Yankees and fire-crackers and yellow faces … no, I wouldn't even miss the gigantic bandit women and jolly Hong Kong boaters and beauteous dragon queens … not too much, anyway.

Possibly those three were in my mind, though, a few weeks later, as I sat in Dutranquoy's bar in Singapore, where the mail had dropped me, idly wondering how I'd kill the fortnight before the P. & O. Cape ship sailed for Home—for I was shot if I was going by that infernal Suez route. At any rate, something awoke a memory of the voluptuous Madam Sabba, with whom I'd wrestled so enjoyably on my last visit there, until she'd spoiled sport by whistling up the hatchet-men—heavens, that had been more than fifteen years ago. Still, I doubted if Singapore had gone Baptist in the meantime, so I took a palki across the river and up through Chinatown to the pleasant residential area which I remembered, where the big houses stood back in their gardens, with paper lanterns glimmering on the dark drives and burly Sikh porters bowing at the front door. Very genteel resorts they were; no trollops on view or anything of that sort; you had a capital dinner and caught the waiter's eye, and he drummed up the flashtail discreetly.

I demanded to be taken to the best place, and it looked Al, with a big dimly-lit club dining-room where silent bearers waited on the tables, and two smart hostesses went the rounds to see that all was in order. One of them was a stately ivory who might have been Sabba's daughter; I considered her carefully as I ate my duck curry with a bottle of bubbly, but then I noticed the other one, at the far end of the room, and changed my mind. She was white and fair and excellently set up, and I felt an almighty urge to try some civilised goods for a change; I heard her soft laughter as she paused by a table where half-a-dozen planters were eating; then she passed on to a solitary diner, a blond-bearded young stalwart in good linen with a clipper-captain look to him, and I wondered if he was on the same lay as myself, for she stood in talk for quite five minutes, while I consumed a jealous soufflé. But then she turned away and swayed to my corner, smiling graciously and asking if everything was to my satisfaction.

"It will be directly," says I, rising gallantly, "if you'll condescend to join me in a bottle of fizz." I was setting a chair when I heard her gasp; she was staring as though I were Marley's ghost. Hold on, thinks I, my new whiskers are grown enough to be presentable, surely—and then I almost dropped the chair, for it was Phoebe Carpenter, pillar of the Church and wholesaler of firearms to the Taiping rebels.

"Colonel Flashman!" cries she. "Oh, dear!"

"Mrs Carpenter!" cries I. "Good God!"

She swayed, eyes closed, and sat down abruptly, gulping and staring at me wide-eyed as I resumed my seat. "Oh, what a start you gave me!"

"That's what I said, up the Pearl River," says I.

Ah, how long ago that seems. Feels almost three years...

quote:

"Well, well, I never! Here, take a glass … and do tell me how the Reverend Josiah is keeping. Missionary society doing well, is it?"

"Oh, dear!" she whispers, trembling violently, which improved an already delightful appearance. I hadn't known her because the Phoebe I remembered had borne her beauty in matronly modesty, innocent of rouge and fairly swathed in muslin; this was a most artistic translation, red-lipped and polished, with her gold ringlets piled behind her head and her udders threatening to leap with agitation from a low-cut gown of black satin which I doubted had come from the last sale of work. She drank, her teeth chattering.

"What must you think?" says she, speaking low, and taking a quick slant to see that no one was listening.

"Well," says I cheerily, "I think you're wanted in Hong Kong, for gun-running, which should get you about five years if anyone were inconsiderate enough to mention it to the Singapore traps. I also think that would be' a crying shame —"

"You wouldn't betray me?" she whimpers faintly.

"You betrayed me, dear Phoebe," says I gently, and laid my hand on hers. "But of course I wouldn't —"

"You might!" says she, starting to weep.

"Nonsense, child! Why ever on earth should I?"

"For … for … re-revenge!" She stared piteously, like a blue-eyed fawn, her bosom heaving. "I … we … deceived you most shamefully! Oh, dear, what am Ito do?"

"Have some bubbly," says I soothingly, "and rest assured I have no thoughts of revenge. Compensation, perhaps …"

"Comp-compensation?" She blinked miserably. "But I have no substance … I couldn't afford …"

"My dear Mrs Carpenter," says I, squeezing her hand, "you have absolutely capital substance, and you know perfectly well I don't mean money. Now … I'm sure Josiah has told you all about Susannah and the Elders. Well, I'm not feeling exactly elderly, but … oh, Susannah!" I beamed at her, and she blinked again, dabbed her nose and looked at me thoughtfully, still heaving a bit but settling down and accepting another ration of fizz.

"I'm by no means sure that they would send me to prison!" says she, unexpectedly, pouting. "After all, it was a very good cause!"

"It was a dam' bad cause," says I, "and if you think they won't shove you in clink, just ask dear Josiah."

"I can't! He has abandoned me!"

"You don't mean it!" I was astonished. "He must be mad. You mean he just up and left you? Here?"

"Can you suppose I would accept employment in a restaurant if I were still a clergyman's wife? Well, I am still his wife," she admitted, taking another sip, "but he has deserted me and gone to Sumatra."

"Has he, though? Missionary work or piracy? Well, that's bad luck to be sure. But you'll soon get another chap, you know, with your looks," I reassured her. "Well, take tonight, for example. Why, before I even recognised you, I was most entirely fetched —"

"Oh, say you will not inform on me!" She leaned forward, all entreaty. "You see, I have a most fortunate situation here, and am in hope to save sufficient to go back to … to England … to Middle Wallop and my dear parents … at the rectory …"

"I knew it must be a rectory. Middle Wallop, eh?"

"When I think of it," says she, biting her lip, "compared to …" She gestured at the room pathetically.

"… compared to beating copra in the women's compound with all those smelly Chinese sluts? Absolutely. Well, now, Phoebe, tempus is fugiting—when does your shop shut, and where shall we … ah …?"

"We close in an hour. I live in the house," says she, looking at the table, and shot me a reproachful pout—my, she was a little stunner. "You do very wrong to compel me. If you were a gentleman …"

"I'd shop you like a worthy citizen. If you were a lady, you wouldn't hocus fellows into running guns. So we're well suited—and I ain't compelling you one bit; you're all for it." I gave her a wink and a squeeze. "Now, then, where can I spend the next hour? Got a billiard table, have you? Capital. Just pass me the word when you've got the dishes washed—oh, and see we have a couple of bottles, iced, upstairs, will you? Come on, goose—we'll have the jolliest time, you know!"

Flash, Susanna and the elders isn't a thing for Anglicans.

quote:

She gave her head a little toss, going pink, and glanced at me slantendicular. "And you promise faithfully not to tell … anything? Oh, if only I could be sure!"

"Well, you can't. Oh, come … why should I peach on a little darling like you, eh?" As we stood up, close together, I squeezed the satin unseen, and her mouth opened on a little gasp. "See? Two hours from now, you won't care."

I ambled down to the empty billiard room, in prime fettle, calling "Kya-hai!" and ordering up another bottle of bubbly. I tickled the pills until it arrived, and then wandered, glass in hand, to the verandah to look out into the tropic dark; it had started to rain with great force, as it does in Singapore, straight down in stair-rods, battering the leaves and gurgling in the monsoon ditch, bringing that heavy, earthy smell that is the East. I stood reflecting in great content: homeward bound, champagne, good Burma cheroot, and lissom little Phoebe under starter's orders. What more could a happy warrior ask? After the second glass I tried a few combination shots, but my eye wasn't in any longer, and after a while I left off, yawning and wishing impatiently that Phoebe would hurry the mateys along, beginning to feel sleepy as well as monstrous randy.

The door opened abruptly and a chap stuck his head in, rain glistening on his hat and cape. He gave me a cheery nod.

"Evenin', sport. Seen Joss about, have you?"

"Joss?"

"The guv'nor. You know, Carpenter. Or maybe you don't know. Ne'er mind, I daresay he's upstairs." He was withdrawing.

"Hold on! D'you mean … the Rev. Josiah Carpenter?"

"The one and only," says he, grinning. "Our esteemed proprietor."

I gaped at him. "Proprietor? You mean he owns this place? He's not … in Sumatra?"

"Well, he wasn't this afternoon. I say, are you all right?"

"But Mrs Carpenter distinctly … told me …"

"Oh, she's about, is she? Good, I'll see her. Chin-chin."

The door slammed, leaving me standing bewildered—and angry. What was the little bitch playing at? She'd said … hold on … she had said … I turned sharply at a step on the verandah, lurching heavily against the table and catching hold to steady myself.

The big blond-bearded chap who'd been in the restaurant was standing in the open screen; he was wearing a pilot-cap now, and there seemed to be another fellow in a sou'wester, just behind him in the shadows … why was I so dizzy all of a sudden?

"Hollo," says the blond chap, and his glance went to the bottle and glass on the side-table. He grinned at me. "Enjoying your drink?"
And ends rather badly for the elders, too. Perhaps he'd only heard the title.

quote:

[With words apparently failing their author for once, the eighth packet of the Flashman Papers ends here.]

And how could a tale involving not one but two pearls of the Orient possibly end before someone's Shanghaid by a crimp?

Thank you very much for reading! Next time will be the last update with the appendices and final thoughts.

* # ? Feb 4, 2025 04:06
  • Quote
Arbite
Nov 4, 2009

quote:

APPENDIX I: The Taiping Rebellion

The Taiping Rebellion was the worst civil war in history, and the second bloodiest war of any kind, being exceeded in casual-ties only by the Second World War, with its estimated 60 million dead. How many died during the fourteen years of the Taiping Rising can only be guessed; the lowest estimate is 20 million, but 30 million is considered more probable (three times the total for the First World War). When it is remembered that the Taiping struggle was fought largely with small arms and only primitive artillery, some idea may be gained of the scale of the land fighting, with its attendant horrors of massacre and starvation. Again, the word "battle" nowadays is frequently applied to struggles lasting over months (Ypres, Stalingrad, etc). Using the more traditional sense of the term, which covers only days, it can be said that the bloodiest battle ever fought on earth was the Third Battle of Nanking in 1864, when in three days the dead exceeded a hundred thousand.

So far as his account goes, up to the summer of 1860, Flashman gives an accurate, if necessarily condensed version of the Taiping movement and its astonishing leader, the Cantonese clerk Hung Hsiu-chuan, who fell into a trance after failing his civil service examinations, saw visions of Heaven, and became inspired to overthrow the Manchus, cast the idols out of China, and establish the Taiping Tien-kwo, the Heavenly Dynasty of Perfect Peace, based on his own notions of Christianity. He is said to have been much influenced by a missionary tract, "Good Words to Admonish the Age".

That Hung was a leader of extraordinary magnetism is not to be doubted, and he was materially assisted by the corruption and decadence of Manchu government; China was ripe for revolution. At first his small movement concentrated on attacking idolatry, but with the persecution of the sect for heresy, magic, and conspiracy, his crusade developed into guerrilla warfare, and the first rising in Kwangsi in 1850 spread into other provinces. With able generals such as Loyal Prince Lee, the Taiping armies fought with increasing success; their organisation and discipline far outmatched the Imperials, and after the capture of Nanking in 1853 they threatened Pekin and controlled more than a third of China, establishing capitals in provinces which they had devastated. Flashman saw them when they were at their peak and might still have accomplished their revolution, but the seeds of defeat were already apparent. For all their zeal and military discipline, the Taipings were poor social organisers and administrators; their rule was oppressive and haphazard, and they failed to attract either foreign support (although their apparent Christianity gained them some European sympathy at first) or the Chinese middle and upper classes. They also suffered from internal feuds and the degeneration of the once inspirational Hung, who after 1853 went into almost complete seclusion with his women and mystical meditations. Strategically, the Taipings made the mistake of never securing a major port through which they might have made contact with the outside world, and failing to concentrate their thrust at Pekin, the seat of Imperial power.

After the events of 1860, their decline was rapid. Tseng Kuo-fan organised the Imperial reconquest, aided by the Ever-Victorious Army under Ward and Gordon, and after Hung's suicide by poison in June 1864, Nanking fell, and the greatest rebellion ever seen in the world was over; six hundred towns had been destroyed, whole provinces devastated, billions of pounds worth of property lost, and countless millions were dead, including all the rebel leaders. Loyal Prince Lee and Hung Jen-kan were both executed in 1864. Other notable Wangs were:

The East King (Tung Wang), Yang Hsiu-ching, a charcoal burner who became a shrewd and ruthless general; also known as God's Holy Ghost. He was murdered in 1856 by

The North King (Pei Wang), Wei Chiang-hui, pawnbroker, who in turn was executed with twenty thousand followers by the Heavenly King in 1856.

The West King (Si Wang), and the South King (Nan Wang) were both killed in action in 1852.

Apart from these early Wangs ("The Princes of the Four Quarters") the principal leaders included the young and formidable General Chen Yu-cheng, who with Lee raised the siege of Nanking, and died in 1862; the redoubtable Shih Ta-kai, also known as the Assistant King (I Wang), executed in 1863; Hung Jen-ta (Fu Wang), elder brother of the Heavenly King, executed 1864; the Ying Wang (Heroic King), executed 1862; and most pathetic of all, Tien Kuei, the Junior Lord (Hung Fu), son of the Heavenly King, executed by the Imperialists in 1864; he was fifteen.

Among eye-witnesses of the Taipings, none is more interesting than Augustus Lindley, an intensely partisan young Englishman who defended them as moderates, contended that the Heavenly King had been elected, not merely self-declared, denied that his claim of relationship to Christ was meant to be taken literally, and defined as "anti-Taiping" all Britons of the Elgin school, the opium interests, missionaries, Roman Catholics, and merchants generally. He paints an attractive picture of Loyal Prince Lee, whom he met (and shared his indignation at being repulsed from Shanghai), and is a mine of detail about Taipingdom. He is at variance, however, with other contemporary writers, the most extreme of whom describe the Taipings as enslavers, destroyers of trade, living on loot, etc. * At this distance they look, as Flashman says, like a worthy movement gone wrong; in fairness, it has to be said that they included some sincere reformers, even among local commanders, and in some areas at least brought lower taxation and tried to encourage trade and agriculture.

As to the havoc they wrought, the one point on which most authorities seem to agree is that the Imperialist forces were worse. Jen Yu-wen described the carnage when the Taipings took Nanking (with 30,000 Bannermen wiped out and thousands of women burned, drowned, and cut down) as the first and last Taiping massacre; considering the scale of bloodshed in the war, it is difficult to accept this.

There is a considerable modern literature on the subject, and Chinese scholars have devoted close study to the writings and philosophy of the movement. (See Lindley, Ti-ping Tien-kwoh, 1866; Lewis B. Browning, A Visit to the Taipings in 1854 (in

* H. B. Morse, an eminently fair authority, is blunt: "The Taiping Government is not known to have organised any form of civil administration, even in Nanking. Levying of taxes was simplicity itself: it took everything in sight." (International Relations).-

Eastern Experiences, 1871); Franz Michael, The Taiping Rebellion, vol. i, 1966; Jen Yu-wen, The Taiping Revolutionary Movement, 1973; J. C. Cheng, Chinese Sources for the Taiping Rebellion, 1963; H. W. Gordon, Events in the Life of Charles George Gordon, 1886; Walter Scott (publisher), Life of General Gordon, 1885; Morse; Wilson, Blakiston; Forrest; Scarth; Cahill.)

Even today, one can't get a definitive answer on something as simple as whether the black flag of victory or death was real.

quote:

APPENDIX II: The Orchid

Yehonala, later Empress Tzu-hsi (1834-1908), known variously as the Orchid, Imperial Yi Concubine, Empress of the Western Palace, and latterly, Old Buddha, was the effective ruler of China for half a century. The daughter of a Manchu captain of the 8th Banner Corps, she was seventeen when she and her cousin, Sakota, were chosen with 26 other Manchu beauties as concubines for the young Emperor Hsien Feng, and although Sakota became Empress Consort, Yehonala quickly established herself as the Imperial favourite. When she bore the Emperor's only son in 1856 her hold over the ailing, weakly monarch, and on political power, became greatly strengthened, with fateful results for China. For the young concubine, although well educated by Manchu standards, was ignorant of the world outside; she was also an extreme reactionary, inflexibly autocratic, and highly aggressive in diplomacy. She appears to have been a prime mover in China's resistance policy during the Arrow War and Elgin expedition, forbidding trade, putting prices on British heads, sending suicide orders to unlucky commanders, inspiring the death warrants, and urging opposition to the barbarians at all costs. ("My anger is about to strike and exterminate them without mercy," Daniel Varè quotes her. "I command all my subjects to hunt them down like wild beasts.") At the same time, with the Emperor's health failing, she was entering on a political struggle to ensure her son's succession and her own survival.

Flashman's account of her scheming in September 1860 is uncorroborated, but there is no doubt that she was already deep in palace plotting, and in the year that followed her courage, ruthlessness, and genius for intrigue were tested by events which resemble sensational fiction rather than sober fact. For the Emperor did not die quickly, as expected; he lingered for a year at Jehol, and in that time Yehonala suffered an almost fatal setback. Reports of her affair with Jung Lu, who was said to be her lover, reached the Emperor, and she was forbidden the royal presence; worse still, when a council of regency was appointed by the Emperor's decree on the day before his death in August 1861, its leaders were her bitterest enemies, Prince I, Sushun, and Prince Cheng;*(* But not Sang-kol-in-sen, who had been stripped of his title and command after the fall of Pekin in October, 1860) Yehonala herself was excluded.

That should have been the end of her, but her enemies had overlooked one small but vital point. The edict of regency, signed by the Emperor, had not been sealed with the dynastic seal—Yehonala had purloined it. And at a time when it was essential for the reins of power to be seized in Pekin, Prince I and the other regents were bound by court protocol to remain with the royal corpse at Jehol, and then accompany it, in slow ceremonial procession, to the capital. Not so Yehonala and the Empress Sakota, whose duty it was to go ahead to Pekin and meet the coffin on its arrival.

Prince I and Sushun, well aware of Yehonala's popularity with the troops, and fearing what might happen if she reached Pekin first, arranged to have her and Sakota ambushed and murdered on the journey. But the faithful Jung Lu learned of the plot and set off from Jehol by night, overtook the royal ladies on the road, escaped the ambush, and brought them safely to the capital, where Yehonala lost no time in raising support; Sakota, as usual, was content to stay in the background. Thus when Prince I and the regents finally arrived with the cortege they were welcomed by an urbane Yi Concubine who thanked them graciously, dismissed them from the regency, and had them arrested in the name of the new Emperor (whose decrees proved to be properly sealed).

The regents, charged with responsibility for the recent war and (a fine effrontery on her part) with treacherously capturing Loch and Parkes, were sentenced to be tortured to death, but this was commuted to suicide by the silk cord for Princes I and Cheng, and beheading for Sushun. Jung Lu was rewarded with the viceroyalty of a province and control of the army; Yehonala and Sakota assumed the titles of Empress of the Western and Eastern Palace respectively,*(Flashman is plainly mistaken in assigning this title to Yehonala in 1860.) and from that moment the former concubine never relaxed her grip on imperial power. When her son, the new Emperor, died in 1873, she engineered the succession for her infant nephew, but when he reached manhood and showed reformist tendencies she had him interned and wielded supreme authority until her death.

Yehonala Tzu-hsi was the world's last great absolute queen, and may be compared to Catherine the Great and the first Elizabeth. For the ills her country suffered through her resistance policy and refusal to accept change, she may fairly be blamed; against that, she kept the world at bay from China until the end of the century, when economic decline, war with Japan, and the Boxer Rising (which she exploited against the foreign powers) completed the undermining of imperial rule. Soon after her death China was a republic; whether it would have profited from earlier revolution, earlier reform, and earlier acceptance of the outside world, no one can say.

In its details, Flashman's portrait of Yehonala is a faithful one; her beauty and charm were legendary, as were her less admirable qualities, and his account of her lifestyle is confirmed elsewhere, even to such trivia as her favourite food, clothes, jewellery, and board-games. How just he is in his sweeping assessment of her character is a matter for conjecture; as her biographer Sergeant observes, contemporary writers, depending on their viewpoint, show her almost as two different women, "one a monster of iniquity, the other a lovable genius". There is ample evidence that she was vain, greedy, cruel, and autocratic, but less that she was as callous, ruthless, and promiscuous as Flashman suggests. Opinions differ sharply about her private morals; she was for years concubine to a depraved monarch, and rumours of her immorality were persistent (but she did not lack malicious enemies); apart from Jung Lu, her lovers were said to include a later Chief Eunuch, Li Lien Ying ("Cobbler's Wax"), her confirmed favourite, who may not have been a eunuch at all—the American artist, Katherine Carl, described him as tall, thin, and "Savonarola-like", with elegant manners and a pleasant voice. There is virtually no personal evidence for her early life; most of the memoirs refer to her later years, when the picture is of a sprightly, domineering old lady of unshakeable will, immense vanity, high intelligence, and winning charm when she chose to exert it; obviously a once great beauty, and retaining to the end her silvery voice and flashing smile. (See Philip W. Sergeant, The Great Empress Dowager of China, 1910; Daniel Varè, The Last of the Empresses, 1936; E. Backhouse and J. O. P. Bland, China Under the Empress Dowager, 1910, and Annals of the Court of Pekin; Princess Der Ling (Te Ling), afterwards Mrs T. C. White, lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Empress, Two Years in the Forbidden City, 1924, and Old Buddha; Charlotte Haldane, The Last Great Empress of China, 1965; J. and M. Porteous, "An Explanatory Account of the Chinese Ladies," pamphlet, Dublin, 1888. For the political intrigues of 1861, see Morse, International Relations.)



'Until next time, dear barbarian.'

quote:

APPENDIX III: The Doctor of Letters of the Hanlin Academy

One of the most touching, and illuminating, documents of the China War is a diary covering the last few weeks before Elgin's army reached Pekin. It was kept by a Doctor of Letters and member of the Hanlin Academy, living in the capital, and is an invaluable record of the crisis as seen by an educated, middle-class Chinese. He calls it "a record of grief incurable"; the time of national catastrophe was also, for him, one of personal tragedy because, while the barbarians were closing on Pekin, the doctor's aged mother was dying, and the diary is a moving record of his personal anxieties set against the background of great events. The diary has another value: it shows the power which the Yi Concubine Yehonala exerted on the dying Emperor and his court, and the extent to which she was responsible for the bitter resistance to the Allies' demands.

"In the moon of the Ken Shen Year (August)", writes the doctor, "rumours began to circulate that the barbarians had already reached Taku (Forts)." There was "alarm and uneasiness" in Pekin, but no flight as yet. "His Majesty was seriously ill, and it was known that he wished to leave for the north, but the Imperial Concubine Yi … dissuaded him and assured him that the barbarians would never enter the city." After news of the defeat at Taku, however, people began to leave, and as the news became progressively worse, the exodus became one of thousands.

The doctor now turns to his own immediate troubles: his mother's medicine, the preparation of her coffin, its appearance, and its cost—which, he reflects, would have been much greater if he had not had the foresight to buy the wood years earlier and keep it in store. "This comforted me not a little."

His next entry is divided between national affairs and the progress being made on the coffin. There are "rumours that Pekin would be bombarded on the 27th [sic], so that everyone was escaping who could. On the 27th we put on the second coating of lacquer. On that day our troops captured the barbarian leader Pa-hsia-li (Parkes) with eight others, and they were imprisoned in the Board of Punishments." He notes that the Emperor was preparing to leave, but the Imperial Concubine Yi persuaded some of the high officials to memorialise him to remain. All officials were now sending their families and valuables out of the city.

His mother's death was clearly approaching, so the ceremonial robes were prepared. His mother thought the coverlet was too heavy, so one of silk was substituted, but she thought that too luxurious. "Her parents-in-law," she pointed out, "had not had grave-wrappings of such valuable stuff." Meanwhile, in "the battle at Chi Hua Gate" (which presumably means Pah-li-chao), "the Mongol cavalry broke, and many were trampled to death in the general rout."

And now "the Princes and Ministers besought the Concubine Yi to induce His Majesty to leave … His Majesty was only too anxious to start at once … (but she) persuaded the two Grand Secretaries to memorialise against his doing so, and … a decree was issued stating that in no circumstances would the Emperor leave the capital."

Another battle was reported the next day (September 22; this was either a false rumour, or more probably the Allies mopping up after Pah-li-chao), and the Emperor, "attended by his concubines, the Princes, Ministers and Dukes [sic], and all the officers of the household, left the city in desperate rout and disorder unspeakable". In fact, the doctor notes, the barbarians were still some way off, and the court was at the Summer Palace, so there was nothing to fear.

"Up to the last the Yi Concubine begged him to remain … as his presence could not fail to awe the barbarians, and thus to exert a protecting influence for the good of the city and people. How, she said, could the barbarians be expected to spare the city if the Sacred Chariot had fled, leaving unprotected the tutelary shrines and the altars of the gods?"

Shortly after this, the doctor's mother died, "abandoning her most undutiful son … her death lies at my door, because of my ignorance of medicine." He was worried about having her buried, in case the barbarians should desecrate her grave, but finally had her buried in a temple. A few days later he notes briefly "vast columns of smoke seen rising to the north-west".

"When the Yi Concubine heard of the … surrender, she implored the Emperor to reopen hostilities." But His Majesty was dangerously ill, "so our revenge must be postponed for the time being".

He was not a Doctor of Letters for nothing, for in short space he conjures up a most moving and vivid picture: of life and death going on in a small house in Pekin while the captains and the kings make history; of his concern for the indomitable old lady reproving his extravagance while the Imperial Army crumbles; of his touching self-reproach at her death and his admiration for the fiery Yi Concubine vainly urging resistance for the honour of China; of his fears for his mother's grave while the Summer Palace is burning. And perhaps the strongest impression he leaves is that if the men of Pekin had matched the spirit of the women, Lord Elgin would have bought his treaty dear. (For the Doctor's diary, see Backhouse and Bland.)

More excerpts from this diary can be found here.



Strong words from Auberon Waugh there. Another cover describes it as the best Flashman yet and it's hard to disagree.

We began this story with Flashman wanting nothing more than to avoid trouble in the far east and instead he is able to offer an all sides look at the bloodiest of civil wars. Unlike in Great Game, we do not see the conflict from spark to climax but instead are dropped in the middle and leave before the end. By the time Flashman blows through all factions are talking past each other and indulging in their own realities and attempting to impose their own standards of conduct:

The Taipings demand that all kneel towards their lord which they view with the blind fervour of the fanatic and declare that those closer and closer to him at the South Capital (南京) are increasingly to be revered. They refuse to see the reality acknowledge the reality of their slaughter and the consequences of their limitations.

The Imperials at the Northern Capital (北京) are further entrenched in their ways and have less regard for the human being at the top than they do to the for the dynasty and their own place around it. They refuse to believe what has been ingrained as impossible, that any barbarian could exist where they did not want them to be, least of all coming straight at the son of heaven.

The foreigners consider the present uncertainty itself to be impossible and while at the farthest outpost at the ends of their empires insist that they must formalize on their own terms what is already status quo.

These fixations meant that only whichever could bring the strongest force of arms would be allowed to continue with their reality.

And glad to see the back it all is Flashman, searching for trollops (and occasionally Trollope's) at a moment's chance. His cowardly, vindictive, and rapacious side is on full display, and with it his skills in observation and language, providing a first hand look at all the pivotal players and moments. It's Flashman at his most, which to many means Flashman at its best.

Much like the Sepoy Mutiny, I would not have learned of the Taiping Rebellion beyond its statistics for many years without Flashman guiding me towards it, so I suppose I can blame Fraser, Kou Shibusawa, and the Hearts of Iron devs in Sweden for me having very specific knowledge Chinese geography and three eras of its whistory and nearly nothing else about it. Perhaps I'll visit someday. Certainly the book made me curious about a few sites.

Thank you all very much for reading the eighth Flashman Paper with me. I hope you enjoyed it, and please share your thoughts.

* # ? Feb 9, 2025 05:37
  • Quote
Genghis Cohen
Jun 29, 2013
 Well done bringing it to a conclusion! Not much to say except that I also agree it's one of the very best in the series, and the Taiping rebellion is shockingly unknown, at least in the western world, for the scale and horror of what it was.

* # ? Feb 9, 2025 06:38
  • Quote
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.


 Same. One of the best, an absolutely forgotten pivotal moment of history, some of Flash at his best (worst) moments, some of the best humor and reverses of fortune. Contains some of the most memorable moments of the whole series.

The series can start to feel a little samey; with his typical reactions and outlook making the adventures in India, China, America, and Africa all start to blend together. Hard to believe we’re basically at the midpoint. But this was a high water mark, for sure.

Nice job landing the plane.

* # ? Feb 9, 2025 14:49
  • Quote
Alris
Apr 20, 2007

Welcome to the Fantasy Zone!

Get ready!
Thanks for your hard work Arbite, I went through the books years ago and reading these posts has been a treat. The Taiping Rebellion is such a fascinating piece of history that I think unfortunately gets lost in the mix of history as it happened right around the same time as that other civil war.

As an aside, reading along with the updates got me curious on what the contemporary British take on the situation was. I think Punch tended to focus on events closer to home, but guessing from the dates these were published and how fast news would travel back then the outrage over Parkes and the others was just as strong at home.

CW: 1860's style Sinophobia

Alris fucked around with this message at 03:46 on Feb 10, 2025

* # ? Feb 10, 2025 03:36
  • Quote
sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









 An Insular Possession by Timothy Mo is very good on that, though it's a bit later (it's about the founding of British Hong Kong)

* # ? Feb 10, 2025 19:51
  • Quote
Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010


Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.
Larry Gonick's Cartoon History of the Universe has a good section on the Taipeng Rebellion, which is how I first learned of it.

* # ? Feb 10, 2025 21:15
  • Quote
Genghis Cohen
Jun 29, 2013

Thranguy posted:

Larry Gonick's Cartoon History of the Universe has a good section on the Taipeng Rebellion, which is how I first learned of it.

Wow, I remember those books as a kid! I think I must have only had them up to more or less the end of antiquity, I don't remember any snippets that are medieval or modern.

* # ? Feb 10, 2025 21:31
  • Quote
Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010


Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.

Genghis Cohen posted:

Wow, I remember those books as a kid! I think I must have only had them up to more or less the end of antiquity, I don't remember any snippets that are medieval or modern.

The last two parts were marketed as Cartoon Histoty of the Modern World I and II, change of publisher necessitated the new title but it's the same series in spirit.

(And Volume III of Universe came out after a long gap, that's where the medieval bits are.)

* # ? Feb 10, 2025 21:49
  • Quote
skasion
Feb 13, 2012

Why don't you perform zazen, facing a wall?
I was reading “An Antidote against Melancholy”, a 1661 collection of “drolleries”, and found what appears to be a prototypic folk song version of Flashman’s favorite tune;

An Antidote against Melancholy, Catch 15 posted:

O! the wily wily fox, with his many wily mocks,
We’le Earth him, if you’l but follow,
And now that we have don’t [read: done it], to conclude this merry hunt,
Let us roundly whoop and hollow:
Prithee drink, prithee drink, prithee, prithee drink,
That the hunters may follow.

It lacks a bit of the fluency of the 19th century version. But the book comes with a disclaimer;

quote:

These witty Poems, though sometimes may seem to halt on crutches,
Yet they’l all merrily please you for your charge, which not much is.

They’re right, i read it for free.

* # ? Jul 29, 2025 14:13
  • Quote
Genghis Cohen
Jun 29, 2013

skasion posted:

I was reading “An Antidote against Melancholy”, a 1661 collection of “drolleries”, and found what appears to be a prototypic folk song version of Flashman’s favorite tune;

It lacks a bit of the fluency of the 19th century version. But the book comes with a disclaimer;

They’re right, i read it for free.

I love the old style of having a little preface or dedication at the start of the book. I am rather fond of the one Thackeray put before Barry Lyndon:

“It was in the reign of George II. that the above-named personages lived and quarrelled ; good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they are all equal now”

* # ? Jul 30, 2025 15:27
  • Quote
Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? Nov 15, 2025 00:13
  • Quote
Grevling
Dec 18, 2016

 Thanks to this thread I'm now close to reading the whole series, just starting on Angel of the Lord. I never in my life thought anything could make me interested in damned cricket.

* # ? Jul 30, 2025 19:05
  • Quote
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
  • Post
  • Reply
The Something Awful Forums > The Finer Arts > The Book Barn > A Singularly Unpleasant Creature: Let's Read Flashman!
«‹›37 »