"Yes, so think how you'll bruise when the Mongols take their flails to you, little jelly ..
"You wouldn't!"
"I would. I will, unless you take me in and let me see—now." "Oh, this is wilful! It's wicked! And dangerous! Please, dear Imperial Concubine Yi, why can't we just go upstairs and —" "Because I've never seen a barbarian. And I'm going to, dear Little An." The lovely voice chuckled, and began to sing softly: "Oh, I'm going to see a barbarian, I'm going to see a barbarian …"
"Oh, please, please, Orchid Lady, quietly! Oh, very well —" The door opened, and light flooded into the room.
Dazzled, all I could make out at first was a short, stout figure carrying someone—a child, by the look of it. Then the lantern was placed on a cupboard, so that it shone down on me, and as they advanced into the room I saw that the bearer was the portly cove who'd scratched the Emperor's foot in the Hall of Audience; his burden was wrapped in a scarlet silk cloak with a hood keeping the face in shadow.
"Well!" hisses the eunuch. "There it is—I hope you're satisfied! Risking our lives just to gape at that monster—to say nothing of the scandal if it were known that the Empress of the Western Palace was sneaking about —"
"Oh, shut up, pudding," says she in that silvery chuckle. "And put me down."
"No! We're going—we must, before —"
"Put me down! And close the door."
He gave a hysterical whimper and obeyed, and she circled the bench none too steadily, giggling and clutching the cloak tightly under her chin. She craned foward to look at me, and the light fell on the most beautiful face I've ever seen in my life.
I've said that of three women, and still do—Elspeth, Lola Montez … and Yehonala Tzu-hsi, the Orchid, the incomparable Yi Concubine. And it's true of each in her own way: fair Elspeth, dark Lola … and Yehonala was the Orient, in all its pearly delicacy of flower-like skin, lustrous black eyes, slender little nose, cherry mouth with the full lower lip, tiny even teeth, all in a perfect oval face; add that her hair was blue-black, coiled in the Manchoo style—and you ain't much wiser, for there are no words to describe that pure loveliness. Who could have guessed that it masked a nature compounded of all the seven deadly sins except envy and sloth? But even when you knew it, it didn't matter one damned bit, with that breath-taking beauty. She said it herself: "I can make people hate me—or love me with blind worship. I have that power."
All I knew then, as she surveyed me, swaying and tittering excitedly, was that I'd never seen the like, and I can pay the little heart-stopper no-higher tribute than to say that my first wish was that I had my uniform and a shave—being flat on your hack, gagged and bound in a filthy loin-cloth, cramps the style no end. My second thought was that whoever had painted her mouth purple and her eyelids silver, with devil's streaks slanting up the brows, had done her no service—and then I noticed that the black pupils were shrunk to pin-points, and the perfect lips were loosely open. She was rollicking drunk on opium. Her first words confirmed it, I'd say.
"Ughh! He's … disgusting. Not human! Look at the hair on his chest—like an ape!" She shivered deliciously. "Are they all like this?"
"What did you expect?" pipes An fearfully. "I told you, but you wouldn't listen! Yes, they're all like that—some are even worse. Revolting. Now, please, come away —"
"They can't be uglier than this! See his dreadful great nose—like a vulture's beak! And his ears! And his hair!" She gurgled hysterically, and the lovely face came closer, wrinkling delicately. "He smells, too—ugh!"
"They all smell! Like sour pork! Oh, Orchid Lady, why do you wait, staring at the beastly thing! He's a barbarian! Very well, you've seen him! And unless we make haste —"
"Be quiet! I want to look at him … he's grotesque! Those huge shoulders … and his skin!" She put out a slim white hand, whose silver nails were two-inch talons, and brushed my chest with her finger-tips. "It's like ox-hide—feel!" She squeaked with delight.
"I'll do no such thing! And neither will you—stop it, I say! Eegh! To touch that foulness—how can you bear it? Oh, Orchid, mistress, I beg you, come before anyone finds us!"
"But his arms and legs, An—they're enormous! Like an elephant. He must," says she, all tipsy solemnity, "be terribly strong … strong as a bull, wouldn't you think?"
"Yes, as a bull—and quite as interesting! Imperial Concubine Yi, this is not fitting! Please, I implore you—let us go quickly!"
"In a moment, stupid! I'm still looking at him …" She took an unsteady pace back, head on one side. "He's an absolute monster …" She giggled again, her knuckles to her lips. "I wonder …
"What! What do you wonder? Eh? Aha! I know what you wonder! Oh, vile! Shameless! Come away this instant! No, no —"
"I just want to look, fool! You wouldn't care if it was a horse, or … or a monkey, would you? Well, he's just a barbarian …" And before he could stop her she had swayed forward, laughing, and yanked at my loin-cloth; there was a rending sound, Little An screamed, averted his eyes, tried to drag her away, succeeded in pulling the cloak from her shoulders—and while her ladyship, oblivious, blinked in drunken contemplation, I returned the scrutiny with interest; in fact, I near swallowed my gag.
I should explain that she had looked in while returning from duty in the Emperor's bed, and consequently was still in uniform. Or rather, out of it—and his majesty's tastes were curious. She was dressed in enormous wings of peacock feathers, attached from shoulder to wrist, and high-soled Manchoo slippers from which silver cross-garters wound up to above her knees. The effect was striking; she was one of your slim, perfectly-shaped, high-breasted figures, with skin like alabaster—as I said, I never saw the like. She would have made a stone idol squeal.
"Put it back! Stop it! Don't look!" Little An was in a frenzy, dropping to his knees beside her, pawing distraught. "For pity's sake, Orchid Lady! Please, come away quickly, before … oh, Gods! What are you doing?"
It was a question which, had I not been gagged, I might well have echoed—rhetorically, since there was no doubt what she was doing, the wicked, insolent little flirt. She had detached a plume from her peacock wing and was tickling lasciviously, humming what I took to be an old Chinese lullaby and going into delighted peals at the visible result of her handiwork.
"Oh, buffalo!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands, while Little An stared in horror and absolutely beat his forehead with his fists, and the hapless victim struggled helplessly, distracted and outraged—for I have my dignity, dammit, and I bar being unbreeched and assailed by opium-sodden houris, however be-witching, without even a by-your-leave.
"Oh, horrible! Impossible!" Little An fairly gibbered. "Oh, lady—dear Orchid, please come away! See, I lie at your feet, I beg, I beseech—stop, stop! If someone should find us —"
"That would be unlucky—for them." She stopped tickling, and laid hold. "Oh-h! Little An," says she breathlessly, "go outside … and guard the door."
He gave a frenzied neigh. "What will you do?" he squealed, which was as foolish a question as ever I heard, considering my condition and her behaviour. "No! I forbid it! You cannot! It is sacrilege, blasphemy—awful! It is improper —"
"Do you want to be alive tomorrow, Little An?" The voice was as musically soft as ever, but there was a note in it to bristle your hair. "Go out, keep watch … and wait till I call. Now."
He gave a last despairing wail and fled, and she teased fondly for a moment, breathing hard, and then leaned over to look into my face, possibly to make sure I wasn't going to sleep. Dear God, but she was lovely; the purple mouth was wide, panting violet-scented breaths, the black eyes were glittering as she laughed and called softly:
"Oh, An—he is so ugly! I can't bear to look at him!"
"Then don't!" His piping came faintly through the door. "Don't look! Don't do anything! Don't touch it—him! Remember who you are, you bad, lascivious wretch—you're the Imperial Concubine Yi, beloved of the Complete Abundance, mother of his only child, Moon to the Heavenly Sun! Here—are
you listening?"
"What did you say about complete abundance?" chuckled the drunken hussy, and dropped her silk cloak over my face, to cut off her view, no doubt, damn her impudence. Her hands gripped my chest as she swung nimbly astride, her knees either side of my hips; for a moment she was upright, playing and fondling while I lay fit to burst, and then with a long shuddering sigh she sank slowly down, impaling herself, gliding up and down with maddening deliberation, and what could I do but close my eyes and think of England?
An said afterwards that it was incredible, and but for the gag I'd have cried "Hear, hear!", supposing I'd had breath to do it. But while I wouldn't have missed it for the world, it was deuced unnerving—being ravished is all very well, especially by the most accomplished wanton in China, if not all Asia, but when you're utterly helpless, and she has finally worked her wicked will and lain sated and moaning drunkenly on your manly chest, only to draw away suddenly with a cry of "Ugh, how he stinks!", and then plucks away the cloak for another look and shudder at you … well, you're bound to wonder about the future, if you follow me.
Little An had it all settled, rot him. When she called, he waddled in, sulking furiously, and said that if she'd quite finished behaving like a rutting sow he would carry her to bed, and then slit the barbarian's tongue so that the disgusting brute couldn't blab when they took him to the Board of Punishments. I listened in cold horror, but she reclined gracefully in a chair and says yawning:
"Blood-thirsty little pig, you'll leave his tongue alone—and the rest of him …" She stretched luxuriously. "Oh, An! Do you know what it's like when your whole body melts in such ecstasy that you feel you'll die of bliss? No, of course you don't. But I do … now. I thought Jung was wonderful, but … oh, Jung was just a boy! This was like … who was that ancient god who used to rape everyone? It doesn't matter." She waved a languid wing in my direction. "Carry me upstairs … and have him taken to the Wang-shaw-ewen. Put him in —"
"Are you mad? Has lechery disordered your wits? What the devil is he to do in the Wang-shaw-ewen?"
"Die a happy barbarian," purrs madam. "Eventually. Unless I tire of him first … which is unimaginable." She sighed happily. "Of course, all that horrid hair must be shaved from his body, and he must be bathed in musk for that awful odour, and dressed decently —"
"You are mad! Take that … that thing to your own pavilion!" He gargled and waved his arms. "And when the Emperor hears of it, or Prince Kung—or your enemies, Sang and Sushun and the Tsai Yuan —"
"Oh, don't be silly! Who would be so brave—or foolish—as to tell on the Concubine Yi? Even you aren't so stupid … are you, Little An?" Just for a second the silvery voice hardened on that chilly note, and then she had risen, staggered, giggled, and broken into a little-girl sing-song: "I'm hungry, An! Yes, I am, An! And I want some pickles, An, and roast pork, and cherries, and lots of crackling, and sugared lotus seeds, and a cup of honeysuckle tea. And then sleep, sleep, sleep …" She leaned against him, murmuring.
"But … but … oh, it's the infernal black smoke! It makes you mad, and irresponsible … and … and naughty! You don't know what you're saying or doing! Please, dear Orchid Lady, little Empress, listen to reason! You've enjoyed the beastly fellow—ugh!—isn't it enough? You say no one would tell—but how if the Emperor came to your pavilion and found that … that creature —"
"The Emperor," says she drowsily, "will never get out of his bed again. Why should he, when I'm always in it? But if he did, and caught me with twenty barbarians … d'you know what? He'd forgive me." She brushed a wing playfully across his face. "If you were a man, Little An, you'd know why. My barbarian knows why!" She pushed away from him, laughing, and skipped unsteadily to my bench, beating her wings. "Oh, yes, he knows why! Don't you, my ugly, hairy barbarian—so ugly, except for the happy part … See? Oh, An, I'm so happy!"
"Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!" He pulled her away; he was nearly in tears. "I won't have it, d'you hear! It's not decent—you, a great Manchoo lady—how can you think of that animal —"
"Oh, leave me alone—look, you've torn my wing!" The lovely mouth pouted as she smoothed her feathers. "You'll make me angry in a minute, Little An—I should have you beaten for that—yes, I will, you blubbery little ape —"
"Have me beaten, then!" he squealed, in sudden passion. "Beat me for a torn wing—and what of your torn honour? You, Yehonala, daughter of a knight of the Banner Corps, mother of Tungchi, the seed of Heaven, to forget your loyalty to the Emperor! You indulge your wicked lust with this peasant savage—you, whose life's duty is the solace and comfort of the Solitary Prince! Shame on you! I'll have no part in it, and you can beat or kill me if you like!" He finished on a fine fearful flourish. "It's not good enough!"
I've taken part in some damned odd scenes in my time, but I imagine a visitor to that room just then would have agreed that the present spectacle was unique. There we were among the furniture and dust-sheets: on my left, in brown robe and pill-box hat, twenty diminutive stone of blubber shrilling like a steam whistle; on my right, topping him by a head in her pearl-fringed block shoes, that incredible ivory beauty, her nudity only enhanced by the ridiculous trailing peacock wings and silver garters; they faced each other across the supine form of the pride of the 17th Lancers, trussed, gagged, and stark as a picked bone, but following the debate with rapt attention. My admiration, if not my sympathy, was all with Little An, as I looked at that lovely, silver-painted mask of a face beneath the coiled raven hair: suddenly it was wiped clean of drugged laughter, and the cold implacability that looked out of it was frightening. I even left off staring at those excellent jutting tits, which goes to show. I'd not have faced her for a fortune, but when she spoke it was in the same soft, bell-like tone.
"Eunuch An-te-hai," says she, and negligently indicated her feet—and the poor little tub came waddling and sank down like a burst bladder. She touched his cheek gently with a silver talon, and he turned up his trembling pug face.
"Poor Little An, you know I always get my way, don't you?" It was like a caress. "And you always obey, because I am your little orchid whom you have loved since I came here long ago, a frightened little girl to whom you were kind. Remember the watermelon seeds and walnuts, and how you consoled me when my heart was breaking for the boy I loved, and how you shielded me from the anger of the Dowager when I broke her best gold cup and you took the blame, and how you whispered comfort when first you wrapped me in the scarlet cloak and took me to the Emperor's bed, trembling and in tears? `Be brave, little empress—you will be a real empress some day'. Have you forgotten, Little An? I never shall."
He was leaking like the Drinking Fountain Movement by now, and no wonder. I was starting to feel horny for her again myself.
"Now, because I love you, too, and need you, Little An, I shall be honest with you—as I always am." The silvery voice was sober as a judge's now. "I want this barbarian, for what you call my wicked lust … no, no, it's true. And why not, if it pleases me? You talk of honour, loyalty to the Emperor—what loyalty do I owe to that debauched pervert? You know I'm not a woman to him, but a pretty painted toy trained to pander to his filthy vices—what honour is there in that? You know, and pity me—and used to arrange those secret trysts with Jung, the man I loved. Where was my honour then?"
"Jung Lu was a noble, a Manchoo, a Banner Chief who would have married you if he could," he whimpered, pawing her feet. "Oh, please, Orchid, i seek only your good—this thing is a barbarian brute —"
"But if I want him, Little An, mayn't I have him … please? He is just a little pleasure … a watermelon seed. And he may have another use; you should know of it … and of other things, which it will soon be time to tell you." She paused, head lifting. "Yes … why not now? This is a good secret place, away from big ears. Go—see that all is safe."
He hopped up, all alarm, popped his head out, and came back nodding nervously. She sat down, motioning him to kneel close, and stroked his fat cheek playfully. "Don't be frightened, small
jelly. Just listen." She began to talk, quite unaware that the big ears of the barbarian melonseed were understanding every word.
"Soon, Little An, two great things will happen: the barbarians will take Pekin, and the Emperor will die. No, listen, you fat fool, and keep your babbling to yourself. First, the Emperor. Only I and one discreet physician know it, but in a few weeks he will be dead, partly of his infirmities, but mostly of over-indulgence in the charms of the Yi Concubine. Well, it's a pleasant death, and I give him every assistance. I believe," says this Manchoo Messalina, with a reflective chuckle, "that I could have carried him off tonight, by combining the Exquisite Torment of the Seven Velvet Mirrors with the Prolonged Ecstasy of the Reluctant Shrimp, which as you know involves partial immersion in ice-cold water. But it will be soon, anyway—and who will rule China then, Little An?" She played with her feathers, smiling at his evident terror. "Will it be that amiable
,weakling, Prince Kung, the Emperor's brother? Or his cousin, the hungry skeleton Prince I? Or that murderous madman, Prince Sang? Or Tungchi, the Emperor's only son—my son? Any one of these, or as many others, might become Emperor, Little An—but who will rule China?"
Well, he could guess, all right, and I could have a suspicion myself; I knew nothing of their palace politics, or the immense power of Imperial concubines, but I know women. This one had the spirit, no error, and probably the brains and determination—above all, she had that matchless beauty which could get her whatever she wanted.
"What … too frightened even to guess, Little An? Never mind; leave the dying Son of Heaven, and consider the barbarians. Sang, the idiot, still hopes to defeat them—which is why he and his fellow-jackals have been urging the Emperor to go north to Jehol, on an ostensible hunting trip for his health!" She laughed without mirth. "In fact, Sang knows such a departure would be seen as a cowardly flight, and the Emperor would be disgraced—and Sang, having beaten the barbarians in his absence, would step into his shoes as the darling of army and people. Poor Sang! If only he knew it, the throne will soon be vacant, and his intrigues all for nothing. In any event, he will not beat the barbarians; they will be here within two weeks."
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