Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [130]
“… There was too much to take, so the barbarians stripped the marble-sized pearls from Empress Nuharoo’s robes and emptied Her Majesty’s diamond cases …”
“Where was Prince Kung?” Emperor Hsien Feng was sliding off his chair and trying hard to push himself back up.
“Prince Kung was working outside of Peking. He struck a deal with the barbarians by releasing their captured officials, Parkes and Loch. But it was too late to stop the looting. To cover their crime, the foreign devils … Your Majesty, I can’t … say it …” The eunuch crashed to the floor as if he no longer had a spinal cord.
“Say it!”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The devils … set fire …”
Emperor Hsien Feng shut his eyes. He struggled for breath. His neck twisted as if it was in the grip of a ghost.
On October 13, the barbarians set fire to more than two hundred pavilions, halls and temples, and the grounds of five palaces. The flames consumed everything. Smoke and ash were carried by the wind over the walls. An acrid dense cloud hung above the city, eventually settling in people’s hair, eyes, clothes, beds and bowls. Nothing survived in Yuan Ming Yuan except the marble pagoda and the stone bridge. Among the thousands of acres of gardens, the only building left standing was the Pavilion of Precious Clouds, high on a hill above the lake.
I would later learn from Prince Kung about the “thunder-like sound” people described. It was not the sound of thunder but of explosives. The British Royal Engineers had placed dynamite charges in many of our pavilions.
For the rest of my life, my mind would return to this scene of magnificence suddenly transformed into crumbling piles of masonry. Miles and miles of flames swallowing six thousand dwellings—the palace of my body and soul, along with treasures and works of art collected by generations of emperors.
Hsien Feng had to live with this shame, which eventually ate him up. In my old age, whenever I tired of working or thought of quitting, I would go and visit the ruins of Yuan Ming Yuan. The moment I stepped among the broken stones, I could hear the barbarians cheering. The image would choke me as if the smoke still hung in the air.
A brassy sun peered down upon the moving festival. We continued our long journey to Jehol. I was bitter and sad when I thought about my husband’s “hunting” excuse. In marvelous clothing the ministers and princes were borne in richly decorated palanquins on the shoulders of toiling bearers while guards patrolled on Mongolian ponies.
The chanting of the chair bearers had been replaced by a deep and tortured silence. I no longer heard the slap and slither of sandaled feet over the loose stones. Instead I saw the pain from blisters etched into the lines of grimy sweat-washed faces. Even though we had entered the wild country, everyone remained concerned about the barbarians’ possible pursuit. The procession grew longer each day. It was like a gaudily colored snake winding its way along a narrow road.
At night, tents were pitched and bonfires lit. The people slept like an army of the dead. Emperor Hsien Feng spent most of his time in si-lence. Occasionally when his fever rose, he would speak beyond the ordinary.
“Who can guarantee that all the seeds of nature will be pure and healthy and that their blooms will create a picture of harmony in the garden?” he asked.
Unable to answer, I stared back at him.
“I am talking about bad seeds,” His Majesty continued. “Seeds that have been secretly soaked in poison. They lay sleeping in fertile soil until the spring rain wakes them. They grow to enormous size at an amazing speed, covering the ground and taking water and sun from others. I can see their