"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.44
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.