country should look favourably on our request to come to Shanghai in peace and friendship?”
So much for Oriental diplomacy – long fingernails and long negotiations, my eye! There was his case, stated with veiled menaces, before I’d got a word in, let alone Bruce’s “tactful persuasions”. One thing was clear: this wasn’t the time, exactly, to tell him we didn’t want his long-haired gang anywhere near Shanghai.
“But there is more, much more, than mere practical interest to bind our countries.” He leaned forward slightly, and I realised that behind the impassive mask he was quivering like a greyhound. The dark eyes were suddenly alight. “We are Christian – as you are. We believe in progress, work, improvement – as you do. We believe in the sacred right of human liberty – as you do. In none of these things – none!” his voice rose suddenly “do the Manchoos believe! They respect no human values! Why, for example, do they shuffle and lie and evade, rather than permit your Ambassador to go to Pekin to sign the treaty to which they are pledged? Do you know?”
I supposed, vaguely, that they hoped we’d modify a few clauses here and there, if they put off long enough …
“No.” His voice was level again. “That is not why. They would sign today – at Canton, or Shanghai, even Hong Kong. But not at Pekin. Why? Because if the ceremony is there, in the Hall of Ceremonies in the Imperial City, with your Lord Elgin and the Emperor, the Son of Heaven, face to face …” he paused, for emphasis “…Šthen all China, All Under the Skies, will see that the Big Barbarian does not go down on his knees before the Celestial Throne, does not beat his head on the ground before the Solitary Prince. That is why they delay; that is why General Grant must go up with an army – because Lord Elgin will not kow-tow. And that they cannot endure, because it would show the world that the Emperor is no more than any other ruler, like your Queen, or the American President. And that they will not admit, or even believe!”
“Touchy, eh?” says I. “Well, I dare say –”
“Is a government to be taken seriously, that would risk war – conquest, even – rather than forego the kow-tow to that debauched imbecile? Come to a Taiping prince, and he will take your Ambassador’s hand like a man. That is the difference between a power blinded by ignorance, pride, and brutality, stumbling to its ruin, and a power enlightened, democratic and benign. Allow me to pour you some more tea.”
Now you’ll have noticed that for all his cold, straight talk, he hadn’t said they were coming to Shanghai willy-nilly; he’d urged powerful reasons why we ought to invite them, with a strong hint of the consequences if we didn’t. Well, we’d have to wait and see, but it was plain I was going to have the deuce of a job fobbing him off for as long as Bruce wanted. This was the kind of steel-edged young fire-eater who’d want a straight answer, p.d.q., and wouldn’t wear any diplomatic nods and winks. By gad, he wasted no time; how long had I been with him – ten minutes? Long enough to feel the force that had brought him in ten years from apprentice charcoal-burner and private soldier to the third place in the Taiping hierarchy behind Hung Jen-kan and the Tien Wang himself. It was there, in the cold soft voice and hard unwinking eyes; he was a fanatic, of course, and a formidable one. I didn’t care for him one damned bit.
However, I had a part to play, even if we both knew it was a sham. So I thanked him for his illuminating remarks about his great movement, which I looked forward eagerly to studying while I was in Nanking. “I am only a traveller, as you know, but anxious to learn – and to pass on what I learn to my countrymen who are … ah, deeply interested in your splendid cause.”
“What you will learn, and pass on,” says he, “will include the elementary scientific fact that revolutions do not stand still. Tomorrow I shall conduct you personally to Nanking, where I hope you will do me the honour of being my personal guest for as long as it pleases you to stay.”
So that was that, and he must have slipped a quick word to his treasurer, for in the outer tent – and how free and airy it seemed after that golden bath – a little chap was waiting with a bag of silver and a scroll, which I was invited to sign with a paint-brush. When in Rome … I painted him a small cat sitting on a wall, he beamed, and I strode out to the cart … which wasn’t there.
I stopped dead, looking right and left, but there was no sign of it; nothing but the limitless lines of tents, with red-coats swarming everywhere. I turned in astonishment to the officer who had admitted me.
“The woman who was here, with the cart – the very tall woman … and six men –”
“They went away,” says he, “after you had gone in to the Chung Wang. The woman left that for you.”
He jerked his thumb at one of the little flagstaffs planted before the marquee; something was hanging on it, something shining. I went over and was reaching for it in bewilderment, when I made out what it was. Her steel-chain collar.
Wondering, I took it down, weighing it in my hands. Why the devil had she gone off – leaving this?
I stared at the officer. “She left this … for me? Did she say why?”
He shook his head, bored. “She told me to give it to the big fan-qui. Nothing more.”
“But she said she was going to wait!”
“Oh, aye.” He stopped in the act of lounging off. “She told me to say … that she would always be waiting.” He shrugged. “Whatever that may mean.”
There’s a test which I apply to all my old flames, when I think back sentimentally to moments of parting, and it’s this: if she’d been mine to sell, how long would I have kept her? In the case of Szu-Zhan, the answer is: another night or two at most. Aside from the fact that she was wearing me to a shadow, I needed no encumbrances in Taipingdom; by all accounts they were a strait-laced lot who mightn’t take kindly to a bandit mistress, and I couldn’t afford to lose face. Perhaps she sensed that, and had the good sense to make herself scarce.
Yet as I stood by the dusty camp road with the flags and ribbons fluttering in the evening wind, and the sun going down misty beyond the lines, I confess I felt a moment’s pang at the thought that I’d straddled her for the last time. And I still keep the chain collar in my drawer upstairs, with the Silk One’s scarf, Lakshmibai’s stirrup, Lola’s letter, Irma’s little glove, and that mysterious red silk garter with “Semper Fidelis” embroidered on it that I’m damned if I can place. Anyway, it shows I still think kindly on Szu-Zhan.
But even she pales in memory when I look back to that time, for now I was entering on one of the strangest episodes of my life, which I wouldn’t believe myself if I were to read it in someone else’s recollections, but which you may take my word for, because I was there, in the Eternal Kingdom of Heavenly Peace, and you know I ain’t about to start stretching at this time of day. I can say I’ve walked in Nephelococcygia,a as old Arnold would have called it, and when I tell you that it beat even Madagascar for craziness, well … you shall judge for yourselves.
There was little sign of it during the two days I was in Lee’s camp, and as I compared the tales I’d heard with what I was now seeing for myself, I wondered if perhaps the Taipings hadn’t been grossly misrepresented by Imp and foreign propagandists. That they were savage and blood-thirsty, I knew from the journey up – but what Oriental army is not? They were no mere barbarian horde, though, but a splendidly-disciplined
