Flashman And The Dragon

APPENDIX III: The Doctor of Letters of the Hanlin Academy

One of the most touching, and illuminating, documents of the China War is a diary covering the last few weeks before Elgin's army reached Pekin. It was kept by a Doctor of Letters and member of the Hanlin Academy, living in the capital, and is an invaluable record of the crisis as seen by an educated, middle-class Chinese. He calls it "a record of grief incurable"; the time of national catastrophe was also, for him, one of personal tragedy because, while the barbarians were closing on Pekin, the doctor's aged mother was dying, and the diary is a moving record of his personal anxieties set against the background of great events. The diary has another value: it shows the power which the Yi Concubine Yehonala exerted on the dying Emperor and his court, and the extent to which she was responsible for the bitter resistance to the Allies' demands.

"In the moon of the Ken Shen Year (August)", writes the doctor, "rumours began to circulate that the barbarians had already reached Taku (Forts)." There was "alarm and uneasiness" in Pekin, but no flight as yet. "His Majesty was seriously ill, and it was known that he wished to leave for the north, but the Imperial Concubine Yi … dissuaded him and assured him that the barbarians would never enter the city." After news of the defeat at Taku, however, people began to leave, and as the news became progressively worse, the exodus became one of thousands.

The doctor now turns to his own immediate troubles: his mother's medicine, the preparation of her coffin, its appearance, and its cost—which, he reflects, would have been much greater if he had not had the foresight to buy the wood years earlier and keep it in store. "This comforted me not a little."

His next entry is divided between national affairs and the progress being made on the coffin. There are "rumours that Pekin would be bombarded on the 27th [sic], so that everyone was escaping who could. On the 27th we put on the second coating of lacquer. On that day our troops captured the barbarian leader Pa-hsia-li (Parkes) with eight others, and they were imprisoned in the Board of Punishments." He notes that the Emperor was preparing to leave, but the Imperial Concubine Yi persuaded some of the high officials to memorialise him to remain. All officials were now sending their families and valuables out of the city.

His mother's death was clearly approaching, so the ceremonial robes were prepared. His mother thought the coverlet was too heavy, so one of silk was substituted, but she thought that too luxurious. "Her parents-in-law," she pointed out, "had not had grave-wrappings of such valuable stuff." Meanwhile, in "the battle at Chi Hua Gate" (which presumably means Pah-li-chao), "the Mongol cavalry broke, and many were trampled to death in the general rout."

And now "the Princes and Ministers besought the Concubine Yi to induce His Majesty to leave … His Majesty was only too anxious to start at once … (but she) persuaded the two Grand Secretaries to memorialise against his doing so, and … a decree was issued stating that in no circumstances would the Emperor leave the capital."

Another battle was reported the next day (September 22; this was either a false rumour, or more probably the Allies mopping up after Pah-li-chao), and the Emperor, "attended by his concubines, the Princes, Ministers and Dukes [sic], and all the officers of the household, left the city in desperate rout and disorder unspeakable". In fact, the doctor notes, the barbarians were still some way off, and the court was at the Summer Palace, so there was nothing to fear.

"Up to the last the Yi Concubine begged him to remain … as his presence could not fail to awe the barbarians, and thus to exert a protecting influence for the good of the city and people. How, she said, could the barbarians be expected to spare the city if the Sacred Chariot had fled, leaving unprotected the tutelary shrines and the altars of the gods?"

Shortly after this, the doctor's mother died, "abandoning her most undutiful son … her death lies at my door, because of my ignorance of medicine." He was worried about having her buried, in case the barbarians should desecrate her grave, but finally had her buried in a temple. A few days later he notes briefly "vast columns of smoke seen rising to the north-west".

"When the Yi Concubine heard of the … surrender, she implored the Emperor to reopen hostilities." But His Majesty was dangerously ill, "so our revenge must be postponed for the time being".

He was not a Doctor of Letters for nothing, for in short space he conjures up a most moving and vivid picture: of life and death going on in a small house in Pekin while the captains and the kings make history; of his concern for the indomitable old lady reproving his extravagance while the Imperial Army crumbles; of his touching self-reproach at her death and his admiration for the fiery Yi Concubine vainly urging resistance for the honour of China; of his fears for his mother's grave while the Summer Palace is burning. And perhaps the strongest impression he leaves is that if the men of Pekin had matched the spirit of the women, Lord Elgin would have bought his treaty dear. (For the Doctor's diary, see Backhouse and Bland.)