For one thing, she really enjoyed cruelty, and as an authority in the bullying line myself, I don't speak lightly. Ranavalona of Madagascar has always headed my list of atrocious females, but she was raving mad, and did her abominations almost offhand, without emotion. Yehonala was anything but mad, and if her cruelties seem trivial beside those of my Malagassy Moonbeam, she still inflicted them with the relish of a true sadist. She had a servant following her about with a case of canes and switches, and when anyone displeased her, down came the breeches and lay on with a will, farrier-sergeant. When two of her eunuchs caught some crows and released them with firecrackers tied to their legs so that the birds were blown to bits in mid-air, Yehonala had the culprits' backsides cut to bloody pulp with bamboo whips, watching the infliction of the full hundred strokes with smiling enjoyment. You may say they deserved a drubbing, but you didn't see it.
Even crueller, I thought, was her treatment of a maid called Willow, who offended in some trivial way. Yehonala ordered another maid to start slapping Willow's face, and when she didn't do it hard enough, made Willow slap her back. In the end she had the two little chits thrashing each other in tears, while she laughed and clapped her hands. Add that it was she who constantly urged the slaughter of prisoners, and sent the suicide cords to unfortunate commanders, and I'd say the cruelty case is proved; for ruthlessness and treachery I'd refer you only to her first conversation in my presence.
As to the Deadly Sins—I saw her in a towering rage only once, with the bird-blowing eunuchs, but I'm told that her anger was legendary, and could be berserk in its fury. She wasn't a glutton in the ordinary sense, but her pleasure in food was voluptuous, especially in dainties like sugared seeds of various kinds, and every kind of confectionery, which seemed to have no effect on her figure. She enjoyed opium, but thought no one else should have it; she also took snuff, from a hollowed-out pearl with a ruby stopper, and was the prettiest sneezer you ever did see, giving tiny little "cheef!" noises and wrinkling her nose. She was uncommon greedy for precious things, which was astonishing since she had everything a woman could conceivably want; yet she gloated over her jewellery and clothing in a way that was positively indecent, and I doubt (from her conversation) if enough money could have been minted to satisfy her. Hand in hand with her delight in clothing, her transparent robes, her pearl capes, her enormous sleeves, her thousand pairs of shoes, the jewels which she would fondle as though they were alive, went her vanity, which was all-consuming—and she had every reason for it. As to her lust … don't ask me, how would I know?
Perhaps, on consideration, I'm wrong to call her a monster—unless it's monstrous to indulge an unbridled appetite without regard for anyone or anything. Yes, I think that's right; I do, and I'm a monster. With Yehonala, everything was extreme; whatever she did was done with every fibre of her, and enjoyed with sensual intensity—whether it was nibbling a sugared walnut, or half-killing a partner in bed, or flaunting a new dress, or having an offender flogged nearly to death, or watching the sun go down over the Fragrant Hills, or ruling an empire … she would squeeze the last drop of savour out of it, and lick her fingers afterwards. If you could have seen her even walking, with that quick, gliding stride, or pinning one of her five hundred jade butterfly brooches to her dress, or playing "The Eight Fairies Travel Across the Sea" game with her ladies, or spraying glycerine on her face to fix her cosmetics—always the same concentration, the same implacable zeal to do it exactly right, the same ambition for perfection. No wonder she became mistress of all China—or that the Emperor died of her mattress gymnastics. Ten years? It's a marvel he lasted ten days.
I append these details because, since she became one of the great women of history,*(* See Appendix II.) an eye-witness account may be of some interest; perhaps it'll help some clever biographer to plumb the mystery of her character. I can't; I knew her as a lover, you see, and Dick Burton assures me I'm a hopeless nympholeptic, which sounds, good fun. She ravished my senses, right enough, and scared me to death—which, by the way, is true of the only three women (apart from Elspeth) whom I've truly loved: Lola, Lakshmibai, and Yehonala. An empress, a queen, and the greatest courtesan of her time; I dare say I'm just a snob.
However, my little character-sketch will have explained my growing anxiety in case she discovered that she was nourishing a Chinese-speaking British viper in her gorgeous bosom. For every day increased that risk … and still Elgin didn't move.
The British and French army seemed to have put down roots at Tang-chao, a mere ten miles from Pekin; I couldn't fathom Grant's intentions, with winter coming on, his lines of communication gaping for a hundred miles behind him to the coast, his force still outnumbered at least four to one—if I'd had command of the remaining Tartar cavalry I'd have had him and his army and his bull fiddle bottled on the Peiho yet. The reason, according to Little An, was that the Big Barbarian was scared the prisoners would be murdered if he moved; knowing Elgin, I was sure there must be more to it; in fact, he and Grant were just "makking siccar", as my wife would say, counting on the very error which I heard Little An making to Yehonala.
"We shall have warning if they move," says he. "The big guns will sound, the order for the deaths of the barbarian prisoners can be dispatched, and we shall have ample time to retire to Jehol, leaving Sang and Prince I and Sushun and the rest of the reptiles to meet the wrath of the Big Barbarian. Hang-ki has charge of Pa-hsia-li and the other; they can be removed quietly and executed by the jacket whenever you wish. Unless," he glanced moodily at me, "you will be wise and put that thing away." Meeting his eye, I smiled amiably and nodded. "What in the name of Yen-lo are you going to do with him, Orchid Lady?"
"Take him to Jehol," says she. "Why not?"
"Gods! To Jehol—and play the harlot with him while … while the Son of Heaven is dying in the next room?"
"Well, I can hardly play the harlot with the Emperor, in his condition, can I? And you know me, Little An—I have to be playing the harlot with someone, or so you keep telling me."
"Will you jest, at such a time?" he shrilled. "Oh, little em-press, if you have no shame, at least have sense! Prince Kung and the Empress Dowager are lodged only a mile away—in the Ewen-ming-ewen! Suppose word reached them of this beast's presence? Suppose Sang gets to hear of it? At the moment when you have the prize all but in your grasp—oh, why do I waste time, talking to a lovely idol with an ivory head? How will you hide him in Jehol, or on the road? It's a full day's journey!"
"He can travel with the eunuchs. It may be that I'll keep him as one, eventually. Perhaps make him chief—in place of you. At least he won't deafen me with impertinence. By the way, we'll travel to Jehol by night. Have the horse-litters and cavalry escort standing by from tomorrow; the barbarians may come soon now."
By gad, I hadn't liked the sound of that. Of course she was just joking—teasing Little An. Wasn't she? One thing was sure, she wasn't getting me to Jehol—when those guns sounded, I'd make a run for it, somehow. If I could give my watchdogs the slip, after dark—even if I didn't get out of the Summer Palace, there were acres of woodland to lie up in … I might even get clear away, and be in time to reach Grant and have him send a flying column slap into the city to rescue Parkes and the others … Probyn or Fane would be in and out before the Chinks knew they'd been. Aye, but I mustn't run the slightest risk of capture myself—the thought of being dragged back, helpless, to face her fury (they can't stand being jilted, these autocratic bitches) and Little An's malice …