China

by Edward Rutherfurd

  “Are they so bad?” I whispered.

  “Sushun’s enormously rich,” said the old gardener, “but he always wants more money. That’s why he got himself put in charge of the treasury. People hate him.” He waited until they’d disappeared inside. “It’s a pity the last emperor died so early in life. Each emperor’s quite free to choose his successor from amongst his sons, you know. Prince Gong, even as a boy, showed great promise as a future soldier and administrator. But his elder brother was a better scholar, so his father chose him. If he’d lived longer, he might have discovered the weakness of the elder boy’s character and chosen Prince Gong instead.”

  “If the emperor dies,” I ventured, for we were quite alone, “could Prince Gong…?”

  “No. They made the rule a long time ago: The throne must always pass down a generation. Otherwise the royal brothers will start fighting each other. It’s happened in the past.” He nodded. “We must always learn from history.”

  “Why did you call them vultures?”

  “They all want power. The weaker the emperor, the more power they have over him. Rule by council, that’s the trick. In that respect, even Prince Gong’s no different. Did you know that he’s taken a motto for himself? ‘No Private Heart.’ He means that he seeks only to serve, with no thought for himself.” He smiled. “Do you believe that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “He wants to rule from behind the throne. Actually, it might be a good thing if he did.”

  “So if the emperor died, who’d be on the throne?” I whispered.

  “Depends whom the emperor designates as his heir. Normally, he could select a grown-up nephew. But there aren’t any yet. He could turn to a son of one of his royal cousins, I suppose, as long as it’s the right generation. With all their consorts and concubines, most emperors produced lots of sons and grandsons, you know. Someone could be found.”

  “What about the Noble Consort Yi’s little boy?” I asked.

  “Too young, wouldn’t you say?”

  I didn’t answer. I was thinking, If the emperor dies and another prince is chosen, the Noble Consort Yi will be lucky to get a room in one of the villas. Perhaps something worse might happen to her. Either way, not good for me.

  * * *

  —

  The Solstice came. In the old days it used to be a three-day holiday. It’s just one day now. But it was very pleasant. The court ladies gave one another colored fans and little sweet-scented sachets. The sachets, actually, were most useful in that residence between the lakes, since their smell kept the mosquitoes off.

  And we all ate noodles. Down in the south, at the Solstice, they eat dog meat and lychees, both of which I dislike—another good reason not to live in the south, in my opinion.

  Eight days after the Solstice, the Noble Consort Yi sent me home again for three whole days. When I returned, there was a full moon, and all of us, including the emperor, went out onto the bridges to the islands and gazed at the moon in the water as the twilight slowly turned to darkness. The best musician went out onto the lake in a boat and played the erhu. And although the crickets were making quite a noise, there was no wind, and we could hear every note. I shall always remember that.

  The Solstice season was followed by twenty days of peace. Everyone seemed to be happy. The Lesser Heat was quite mild. But when the Greater Heat began, the humid air became oppressive. A storm was due, and we looked forward to the sense of release when it came.

  * * *

  —

  The messenger who brought the bad news arrived an hour after dawn. The emperor and his family were supposed to visit the Island of Shrines that afternoon, and when we heard the news, we assumed the outing would be canceled. But it wasn’t. Perhaps the emperor wants to pray at the shrines, I thought.

  Prince Gong was already at the Summer Palace, visiting the lady he called Auntie. So he was on hand. Prince Sushun and his brother were summoned from the city, together with three or four ministers. Mr. Liu was also of the party. It looked as if the emperor meant to hold a council on the island.

  As I say, the empress, several court ladies, and the Noble Consort Yi and her son had been expecting to go to the island. Whether the emperor forgot to change the order or he wanted them there, I do not know. But when they all appeared, just as he was setting off, he didn’t send them away. And since the Noble Consort Yi had told me to be in attendance on her, I’d turned up, too. So I tagged along behind with the servants and tried not to attract the attention of Mr. Liu. He soon saw me, of course, and shook his head in disbelief; but he didn’t say anything.

  The Island of Shrines lay in a cove at the north end of the lake. There was a Buddhist temple and a Taoist shrine there, and another handsome house for the Dragon King, sea lord and bringer of rain. The shrines were very beautiful, full of golden ornament, and the emperor visited them all and made offerings before any business was discussed.

  But one other building on the island was rather odd. This was a bell-tower pagoda, three stories high. Nothing strange about that, of course, except that one side of the second story was entirely covered by a big round white clock face. I’d never seen such a thing on a building. It looked most peculiar, especially in a temple complex. And I was just staring at it when I found Mr. Liu at my side.

  “Ugly, isn’t it?” he said.

  “It’s unusual, Mr. Liu,” I said carefully.

  “I will tell you how it got there,” he went on. “Over a century ago, the Qianlong Emperor allowed a few of the barbarian priests to attend his court. These priests were called Jesuits. They had no wives, but they were quite well behaved and obedient. And they were surprisingly skilled in mathematics and painting—after their own fashion—and they knew a lot about geography. We’ve lost interest in geography since then, because it hardly seems relevant to our lives. But the Qianlong Emperor, who was a very great man, was always intrigued by every kind of knowledge. He even let the Jesuits visit the Summer Palace, and they made some paintings of him and his family.”

  “I never knew that, Mr. Liu,” I said.

  “I daresay the Jesuits hoped the Qianlong Emperor would let them make converts in his empire. And since they worship Jesus, like the Taiping do, it’s a good thing he didn’t, because look at the trouble the Taiping have caused.”

  “Your servant is very glad he didn’t,” I replied warmly.

  “He knew how to handle them.” Mr. Liu gave a nod.

  “How was that, sir?” I asked.

  “With Chinese diplomacy. Rule number one: Flatter the barbarian. Rule two: Give him hope. Rule three: Keep him waiting. Now the emperor admired some of their skills. Their clocks, for instance. So rather than let them erect a shrine to their god on the island here, he let them put a clock on the pagoda. Apparently it gave them great pleasure.”

  “I think I can imagine it, sir,” I said with a laugh. “Each time the emperor saw the priest he would say, ‘I was just out at the Island of Shrines, my dear fellow, and I can tell you that your excellent clock is still keeping perfect time.’ ”

  He gazed at me. “You’re quite amusing,” he remarked. “I’ll give you that.”

  “May your humble servant ask,” I inquired, “if the barbarian priests ever became impatient?”

  “Perhaps. But the art is to be polite and treat them well so they have nothing to complain of. Then gradually, like a man in love with an unattainable woman, hope deferred acquires a beauty all its own.” He smiled. “Our diplomacy towards the Jesuits worked just as efficiently as their clocks—though their clocks mark only the hours, while our diplomacy is told in centuries.”

  “There are no Jesuits at the court now?”

  “Not for a long time. They sneak into the kingdom occasionally, without permission, and try to convert the peasants in the hinterland; but usually we catch them and execute them. They’ve broken the
law, after all.”

  “Of course,” I agreed. “They deserve it.”

  Once the emperor had finished his devotions at the temples, everyone was told to attend upon him. There was a patch of ground in front of the pagoda, with a small pond just behind, which made a pretty setting, if you kept your eyes off the clock. The servants had placed a big chair for the emperor and some covered benches for the members of his court. When the Noble Consort Yi sat on her bench, I knelt on the ground just behind. Nobody really noticed me, though I could see most of them and hear everything.

  It’s strange: When the great lords of the world are discussing weighty matters, they never seem to worry about the servants being present. Maybe they trust us. Maybe they forget that we exist or think we’re just part of the furniture. Or maybe they like an audience. Of course, if the emperor was thinking of killing his brother or something bad, I suppose he’d be private about it. But generally it’s amazing what one can hear at court. I certainly heard everything that afternoon.

  Though the emperor looked tired, he opened the discussion in quite a dignified voice. “You have all heard the news. The British barbarian Lord Elgin is back. He comes with the French envoy, Baron Gros, who was also here before.” He turned to Prince Sushun. “They are still at Hong Kong?”

  “So we believe, Majesty. We imagine they will come north again.”

  “How many troops did they bring?” the emperor wanted to know.

  “British and French together, nearly twenty thousand.”

  “That’s quite a lot,” the emperor remarked. He seemed to wince when he said it—though whether it was on account of some pain in his body or the thought of the barbarian troops, I couldn’t say. “Could they breach our defenses?”

  “The best person to ask would be Mr. Liu,” Prince Sushun said. And they all looked at the head eunuch.

  I’d never seen Mr. Liu put on the spot before, but I must say he handled it well. “I can’t claim to be a military expert,” he said in a decided manner, “but as Your Majesty knows, I carried out a thorough inspection. Last year, when the barbarians attacked the forts, they were beaten back. Since then, the defenses have been enlarged. There are miles of mud and barriers to cross. Even the barbarians’ cannon will be of little use to them. Our officers would rather die than give way, and the troops are well under control. Any attempt on the forts will take a terrible toll on the barbarians—surely more than they can sustain.”

  It was clever: He didn’t actually promise victory, but you couldn’t fault his facts.

  The emperor nodded wearily. “I wish someone would explain to me the true nature of these barbarians. Letters have been written to the British queen, but there has never been any reply. Are they trying to destroy our kingdom?” He looked around the circle of advisors. Neither Prince Sushun nor his brother answered. Mr. Liu gazed at his feet. The faces of the other ministers were blank. None of them wished to commit himself. The emperor turned to Prince Gong. “Well, Brother?”

  Prince Gong wasn’t afraid. Was there a hint of contempt in his eyes as he, too, gazed at his fellow counselors? Perhaps. I wasn’t sure.

  “Your Majesty, I’ve spoken to everyone who has dealt with these people,” he answered firmly, “and I am convinced: The barbarians from the West are interested in only one thing, and that is money. They want to trade. The ships and troops their rulers have provided are there only to smash anything or anyone that stands in the way of their making money.”

  “Can their governments be so base?” the emperor asked.

  “I have discovered something about their navies—especially the British, who are the most warlike. It seems that beyond a pittance to keep them alive, the sailors are paid by giving each a share of the value of the ships and treasure they can capture. That is their livelihood, from the greatest admiral to the humblest seaman.”

  “So even their governments are pirates!”

  “Exactly. It has been so for centuries. Consider also,” his brother went on, “that each time we’ve tried to stop their evil opium trade, they’ve sent in gunboats, forced treaties on us, and demanded reparations so huge that even our treasury is sinking under the burden. Is this any different from the criminal gangs who, regrettably, exist in our own cities and who extort protection money from the townspeople?”

  “It’s the same,” said the emperor.

  “Everything makes sense if we understand that their sole aims are trade, piracy, and extortion.” Prince Gong paused. “Yet strangely enough, this may be good news.”

  “How so?”

  “Because if money is their only interest, then they have no reason to destroy or take over our kingdom. And beyond the extortion that is the result of their greed, there has been no sign that their object is conquest. We have been afraid, for instance, that they will join with the Taiping. Yet despite the fact that they apparently share the Taiping’s religion, they have made no attempt to form a joint army.” He looked around them with some satisfaction. “I would even go further, Your Majesty. Since they worship nothing but money, I suspect we might be able to make the British serve us.”

  “In what way?”

  “Pay them to turn their cannon on the Taiping.”

  “Well.” The emperor turned back to the others. “What do you think of that?”

  I wondered what they did think. There was a daring intelligence in what Prince Gong said. It was clear they didn’t like that.

  “I think we have to wait and see what the barbarians do,” Prince Sushun said.

  “Wait and see,” said his brother.

  “Wait and see,” said all the ministers.

  Then the emperor turned to his wife the empress and asked her what she thought. I was surprised he did that, with all those men there.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” the empress said sweetly. Actually, she’d have said that to almost any question you asked her. She was just telling the truth: She had no idea.

  Then the emperor turned to the Noble Consort Yi, and I realized what he was doing. He’d asked the empress only out of politeness. It was the concubine he really wanted to hear.

  From where I was kneeling, I could see her in profile. Her face was very calm. She bowed her head modestly. “I venture an opinion only at Your Majesty’s command,” she said quietly, and inclined her head again. She really was admirable. “No one could doubt the wisdom of Prince Gong,” she began, “but given all he has just said about the greed of the barbarians and how they will wage war to satisfy their lust for money, have we not also seen that this same quest leads the barbarians to take territory? They took Hong Kong. When they quarreled with the governor down at Guangzhou, they threw him out and ruled the city—a major Chinese city!—as if they owned it. In the ports where we’ve allowed them to trade, they refuse to obey our laws. They want to set up alien states within our kingdom. So I ask myself, where will this lead? They may not want conquest, but they mean to take bites out of the empire wherever and whenever they please. And surely this is not desirable.”

  I noticed several people were nodding. The emperor turned to Prince Gong. “Well, Brother?” he said.

  Prince Gong didn’t look annoyed at all. I think he admired the Noble Consort Yi. “I agree the barbarians will take all they can. But they can be controlled.”

  The emperor considered for a moment. Then he sighed. “I still think they may join the Taiping,” he said gloomily. We all waited. “It’s always the same. A dynasty rules for centuries, then things start to go wrong. Barbarians trouble the borders. Provincial generals rebel…The peasants revolt. There are famines and floods as the gods show their disapproval…”

  “Many emperors face challenges,” said Prince Gong. “But they can be overcome.”

  “Everybody lies to me,” cried the emperor.

  “I am not lying to you,” said Prince Gong quietly.

  “My ance
stors are looking down on me.”

  “We must give them cause to be proud.”

  There was a silence. We were all watching the emperor, but I’m not sure he cared.

  “I am nothing to be proud of.” He sounded so sad. But it wasn’t the sadness of wisdom. More childish, really. Nobody said anything. Then he started weeping.

  This was the emperor of China. I stole a glance at the face of the Noble Consort Yi. She didn’t even blink. Had she seen him cry before? I wondered if she felt pity for him. Perhaps she had at one time, but not by then, I suspect. She’d tried to make him more of a man and failed. Does a woman blame herself when her man ceases to be a man?

  Not for long. She cannot. “Your Majesty has held firm on the most critical matter of all,” she suddenly declared. They all looked at her. “The kowtow! That is the most important thing.”

  “Ah. Indeed.” Prince Gong was the first to react. She’d thrown them all a lifeline, to get out of their embarrassment. Prince Sushun and his brother saw it, too. “Indeed,” they echoed.

  “At least I haven’t given way on that,” said the emperor, recovering himself.

  Her timing was always wonderful. And taking advantage of the tide, so to speak, she rowed her boat forward. “Your Majesty has never wavered. The kowtow is the symbol of the emperor’s authority that not only your subjects but the envoys of all other kingdoms use in your presence. Abandon the kowtow, and we as good as say that our authority is at an end.”

  “This cannot be denied.” The emperor nodded.

  “Will Your Majesty allow me to say, then,” she gently pursued, “that one of the reasons I believe that the Western barbarians—even the American barbarians, who generally seem to be more courteous and less immoral than the others—want to undermine and destroy our empire is that they steadfastly refuse this sign of respect that has been given to emperors since time began. It is a deliberate insult that all the world will come to hear about. All the subject kingdoms. All our own people. It effectively says that the authority of the emperor is denied. That truly will be the beginning of the end. And these barbarians must know it. Therefore I say they have come here to destroy us.”