It is just possible that Doyle, who was Matthew Arnold’s successor as Professor of Poetry at Oxford, had the Moyes story from a most authoritative source – Lord Elgin himself. They had been contemporaries at Eton and Christ Church, where both took Firsts in Classics in 1832, belonged to the small circle of Gladstone’s intimates (Doyle was his best man), and may have met again after Elgin’s return to Britain in 1861.
23. The hoot of the tawny owl, the chat huant, was a recognition signal among the peasant guerrilla fighters of Britanny (“les Chouans”) who remained loyal to the crown in the French Revolution. Probably only Flashman, hearing the words at such a critical moment, would have known (or bothered to note) that the speaker was presumably a Breton.
24. According to British Army custom, the most smartly turned out member of a guard was (and possibly still is) excused guard duty, and given the light task of orderly to the guard. This is known as “taking the stick”, possibly because the orderly would carry a cane rather than a weapon. The practice of carrying the guard on to parade was still occasionally seen in India in the editor’s time, forty years ago.
25. It is fairly rare for Flashman to show much regard for “politicals”, but the three with whom he was to work on the Pekin expedition seem to have been exceptions. They were, in fact, an impressive trio. James Bruce, 8th Earl of Elgin (1811–63) was Britain’s most accomplished foreign envoy in the middle years of the century, and served with distinction as governor of Jamaica, governor-general of both Canada and India, and on missions to China and Japan. His great diplomatic service was to prevent annexation of Canada to the U.S., and negotiate the Reciprocity Treaty of 1854, which he was accused of floating through the American Senate on “oceans of champagne”. Harry Parkes, former Canton commissioner and Elgin’s interpreter, was to spend his life in the Orient, and make a name in both China and Japan; small, wiry, tenacious, and a glutton both for work and punishment, he had an adventurous career, distinguished by his ability to survive attempts on his life. He was the first foreigner ever received in private audience by the Mikado. Henry Loch (1827–1900), as Flashman indicates, already had a highly active service career behind him, belied by his gentle disposition and scholarly appearance; he was to write the standard work on the Pekin expedition, and was subsequently governor of the Cape, of Victoria, Australia, and of the Isle of Man, where he had the unusual distinction of having part of the sea-front named after him. (See James Bruce, Extracts from the Letters of James, Earl of Elgin … 1847–62 (1864); G. Wrong, The Earl of Elgin (1905); Theodore Waldron, editor, Letters and Journals of James, 8th Earl of Elgin (1872); Henry (Lord) Loch, Personal Narrative of … Lord Elgin’s Second Embassy to China, 1860 (1869); S. Lane-Poole, Sir Harry Parkes in China, (1901); Samuel Eliot Morison, Oxford History of the American People, vol ii, 1972).
26. An opinion Elgin was to revise before the campaign was over. British opinion of the French was, as usual, highly critical, but on the march Elgin noted that the French soldiers were better improvisers than the British, and adapted well to the conditions. “Our soldiers do little for themselves, and their necessities are so great, that we move but slowly. The French work in all sorts of ways for the army. The contrast is, I must say, very striking.” (Elgin, Letters and Journals.)
27. The fight between Tom Sayers, the Pimlico bricklayer, and John Camel Heenan, U.S.A., for the equivalent of the modern world heavy-weight title, had taken place at Farnborough in April and ended in a draw after 60 rounds, by which time neither man was fit to continue. The exchanges had been so brutal that there was an outcry, and the new Marquess of Queensberry rules were introduced a few years later. This was the last bare-knuckle prize fight in England.
28. Flashman is right in supposing that the regimental march of the Buffs is attributed to Handel, but almost certainly wrong in saying that it was played on the march to Pekin: the Buffs had been left behind to guard the Taku Forts, while the 60th were left at Sinho, and the 44th sent as reinforcements to Shanghai, thus reducing the army to a more manageable size. As to the Handel attribution, there is no conclusive proof that he wrote the march, although the Buffs’ tradition is strong on the point; the suggestion is that the composer had an affection for the regiment, with its distinguished record of Continental service, and perhaps also because it had its origins in the old trained bands of London, his adopted home. (See Fortescue, vol. XIII; Walter Wood, The Romance of Regimental Marches.)
29. Flashman gives a condensed but accurate account of the march to Pekin, which finally took 44 days to complete. For fuller accounts see Loch; Wolseley; Grant and Knollys; Rev. R. J. L. McGhee, How We Got to Pekin (1862); R. Swinhoe (Hope Grant’s interpreter), Narrative of the North China Campaign (1861); D. Bonner-Smith and E. W. R. Lumley (Navy Records Society), The Second China War, 1944; Robert Fortune, Yedo to Pekin (1863).
30. It is not often that the editor finds it necessary to supplement Flashman’s narrative with any important matter, but the present glaring omission has to be filled. Having devoted almost half his narrative to his mission to Nanking, and his efforts to prevent the Taipings taking Shanghai, the author now blandly forgets all about the matter; of course, it is quite characteristic that he should no longer have cared whether Shanghai fell or not, since he was safely away from it, but one would have expected at least a line about the outcome, especially since Elgin had just drawn it to his attention. For the Manchu request for British help against the Taipings was prompted by the news from Shanghai, where Loyal Prince Lee’s forces had been repulsed by British marines and Sikhs on August 18–21. It was not a major action, although the Taipings suffered some casualties; Lee’s reaction appears to have been one of bewildered disappointment at being rejected by fellow-Christians. His failure seemed to do him no harm in the Taiping hierarchy.
31. Flashman may not have persuaded General Sir John Michel to part immediately with Dr Thorne, the new best-seller by Anthony Trollope, since it is known that Lord Elgin was reading it some months later. It and Darwin’s Origin of Species, published the previous year, were his lordship’s relaxation during his China mission.
32. Flashman was remembering the murder in 1841, in similar circumstances, of Sir William McNaghten, British Envoy to Kabul, at the hands of the followers of Akbar Khan. (See Flashman.)
33. 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.
Sam Collinson” was something of a mascot to the British troops, probably because of his name. He was certainly a resolute if unskilful opponent. Physically, he was powerful, with a face described as “broad, humorous, savage, strong, and crafty.” (See the portrait by Beato, Illustrated London News, vol. xxxviii, p. 357).
34. 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 Abbé 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.
35. Shaw’s only “Western”, The Shewing-Up of Blanco Posnet, was first staged in 1909.
36. 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.
37. 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. (See Appendix II.)
38. 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.)
39. 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.
40. 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.
41. About twenty badly-armed eunuchs made a valiant effort to stop the French vanguard, and were shot down. (See Wolseley.)
42. 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).
43. On the treatment of the prisoners and the return of the bodies, Flashman 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.)
44. 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 the 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 van
dal-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.
45. 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.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Flashman Papers Omnibus Page 371
