and brandy-and-cigar in the evening, so to speak—and her week-end picnic. A humiliating position which I was mortal glad of after what I'd been through, and I just prayed she wouldn't lose interest in her new toy before Elgin closed his grip on Pekin. For, incredibly, our army was holding off at the last, fearful that a hostile advance might spell the end of us hostages, yet fearing, too, that delay might be equally fatal.
You may wonder how I knew of this; it arose from Yehonala's remarkable attitude towards me. I said before that she spoke to me as though I were a pet poodle—and that was precisely how she treated me. Not wholly surprising, perhaps; with all the arrogance and ignorance of the well-born Manchoo, she thought of foreigners (and I was the first she'd ever seen, remember) as rather less than human, and exercised no more reticence before me than you do before Poll or your tabby. And since, quite apart from coupling, it was her whim to keep me on hand in her leisure hours, when she walked or sat in the gardens, or boated, or played games with her ladies, I learned a deal by sitting quiet with my ears open. I suspect she paraded me chiefly to tease Little An, who was her constant attendant and couldn't abide the sight of me; they'd talk shop by the lily-pond while Fido sunned himself on the grass, the target of apples playfully tossed by her ladies, and took it all in—how Parkes and Loch had been segregated from the other prisoners, and would make ideal candidates for the wire jacket when the time came; yes, the Emperor's signature was already on the vermilion death warrant, which would be forwarded from Jehol to Pekin whenever she wished; the word from the barbarian camp was that they'd rather negotiate than fight, so she had time in hand if she wished; Prince Kung, the Emperor's brother, could be relied on when the final struggle came for imperial power … this was the kind of thing they discussed, never dreaming it was understood.
One vital titbit of information explained why Yehonala, in-stead of staying with the Emperor at Jehol, had returned to the Summer Palace. I gathered that her four-year-old son, Tungchi, to whom she was devoted, was in Pekin, under the care of the Empress Consort Sakota—being heir to the throne, he was far too important to be entrusted to his own mother, who when all was said was only a concubine. This was something that Yehonala, for all her great hidden power, could do nothing about; she could only keep as close to the child as possible, ready to defy protocol by stepping in if he was in any danger, or if the likes of Sang or Prince I tried to get their hands on him. It might come to bloody palace revolution yet, and possession of the infant would be vital—quite apart from her being his doting mama. In the meantime, she could only wait and trust to Sakota, who was her cousin and bosom pal, they having been apprentice concubines together before Sakota was made Empress. (If it seems odd that Yehonala, the Emperor's favourite, hadn't managed to grab the consortship, the answer was that his mother, the canny old Dowager, had spotted her for a driving woman, and had decided that Sakota, an unambitious and indolent nonentity, would make a more manageable Em-press. The two cousins had no jealousy, by the way; Sakota didn't mind being Number Two in bed, and Yehonala preferred the harlot's power to the Imperial title.)
It wasn't canny, hearing all these state secrets and knowing that the speakers regarded me as no more sensate than the chairs they sat on; I wondered if any spy had ever been so fortunately placed before. The irony was that it was of no practical use; with the eunuchs forever on the prowl, and guards within call, I might as well have been in a dungeon. But at least my own position seemed secure enough, so long as I betrayed no understanding; the really dangerous times were when Yehonala and I were in bed together, and her attention close upon me; her confounded playful poodle-talk unnerved me, for as you'll guess if you've ever listened to a woman scratching a kitten's belly, it consisted mostly of damfool questions which it took presence of mind not to answer.
'So ugly … so ugly,' she would whisper, lying on my chest and brushing her unbound hair across my face. 'So ugly as to be almost magnificent … aren't you? So misshapen and ungraceful, great lumpy muscles … you're very strong, aren't you? Strong and stupid, with teeth like a horse. Open … let me see them. Open, I say … Gods, do you have to be shown everything? Ugh, I don't want to look at them! Horrible … I wonder what your barbarian women are like? Are they repulsive, too? You'll find them so, after this, won't you … after the incomparable Yi Concubine? I must look like a goddess to you … do I look like a goddess? Is it possible you might prefer female barbarians, I wonder? I mean, great apes like each other … but you may never see your barbarian women-apes again … not if I keep you. I might, when my son rules, and I'm all-powerful. Would you like that? I could send you now to Jehol, before your friends come … or I could give you back to them. No, I don't want to lose you yet … and how unhappy you'd be, without me … wouldn't you? You must think you're in heaven, poor barbarian. If only you could speak … why can't you speak … properly, I mean? Suppose you could, what would you say to me? Would you make love to me with words, like the poets? Do you know what poetry is, even? Could you write a poem in praise of my beauty … in butterfly words fluttering crooked up and down the page of my heart? Jung Lu wrote me a poem once, comparing me to a new moon, which was not very original … What would you compare me to, d'you think? Oh, you're hopeless! You couldn't love with words … you know only one way, don't you? … like a great, greedy beast … like this … no, greedy beast, not like that! Be still … like this … slowly, you see? … this is the Fourteenth Gossamer Caress, did you know? There are more than twenty of them, and the last, the Supreme Delirium, can be experienced only once, for during it the lover dies, they say … let us be content with the Fourteenth … for the moment … then we'll try the Fifteenth, shall we …?'
It's desperate work, listening to that kind of drivel with a straight face, never showing a glimmer of comprehension, in constant fear lest a blink of surprise, to say nothing of an ecstatic shriek in the wrong language, means certain and hideous death. For I had no illusions about this sweet young thing—if she so much as suspected I understood, the wire jacket would be the least of it; the more I knew of her, the more I became aware of what I said some time ago, that she was a compound of five of the Deadly Sins—greed, gluttony, lust, pride, and anger, with ruthlessness, cruelty, and treachery thrown in; it was fatally easy to forget it, gazing on that lovely face, and embracing that wonderful body, or listening to her chaffing Little An, or joking like a mischievous schoolgirl with her ladies—for she had a great sense of fun, and true playfulness, and yet in spite of all that, there's only one word to describe her: she was a monster.
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
