China Edward Rutherfurd (essential reading .txt) 📖

are delighted to welcome you on this happy occasion. But before I propose the loyal toast, I would like to say a word about the situation here in Peking.

“We have all learned with deep shock of the recent atrocities committed against missions and their Chinese converts. Our thoughts go out to all those who have suffered.

“I must stress, however, that there is no indication that these Boxer outrages have spread beyond a few northern provinces. In South China, the Boxers are unknown. The Chinese government, through the Tsungli Yamen, has given us assurances that an edict is being issued for the total suppression of the Boxers. The leaders of all the legations have met, and we have told the Chinese that if they do not at once make good on their promise, we shall summon our troops from the coast, where we already have warships in place. I have every reason to believe, therefore, that this regrettable business will soon be put behind us.”

There was applause. And then came the loyal toast to Victoria, Britain’s queen and India’s empress, on the joyous occasion of her eighty-first birthday, sixty-three years on the throne with, God willing, many more to come. Long may she reign. And the British all cheered, and everyone clapped, on the legation’s broad and sunlit lawn.

“So what do you really think?” said John Trader to Morrison.

“The Boxers may not be so easy to stop. It’s not really surprising if nationalist groups resent the foreigners who keep humiliating them. And I’m afraid…”—Morrison glanced at Henry—“our missionaries, though they mean for the best, may not have helped.”

“For example?” Trader asked

“Telling the Chinese they shouldn’t worship their ancestors. Theologically correct, but perhaps not wise. Venerating the dead is central to the Confucian idea of moral family life.”

Trader nodded. “On Scottish hills,” he remarked, “they still build cairns of stones for the dead. Pagan practice, old as time. But nobody thinks there’s any harm in it.” He gave Henry a mischievous look. “Perhaps my children will do it for me.”

“I’ll add a stone to your cairn,” Henry replied cheerfully. “And Christians tend family graves in every churchyard. Just don’t ask me to worship you or think you can send me help from the afterlife.” He turned to Morrison. “I don’t make an issue of all this myself. If I can bring my converts the spiritual benefit of Christianity, they’ll gradually understand that everything comes from God and pray to Him for the souls of their ancestors. But it’s true that some Chinese claim we’re attacking their traditions.”

Emily returned, bringing the two Hoovers with her, and introduced them to her father.

“Morrison was just telling us what we missionaries have done to offend the Chinese,” Henry explained. “Go on, Morrison. What else?”

“In recent years, our attempts to discourage foot-binding.”

“But it’s such a terrible custom,” cried Lou Hoover.

“And very painful,” said Emily. “All the women tell me that.”

“I can never see,” said Lou Hoover, “why people would do such a thing.” She turned. “What do you think, Mr. Trader?”

“Strange, isn’t it,” he replied, “how all over the world, people want to distort the bodies God gave them. In some parts of Africa, I’ve been told, the women stretch their necks with metal rings so that if you took the rings away, their necks could no longer support their heads. The ancient Maya in Central America used to lengthen babies’ skulls by squeezing them between two boards. But you could argue that the worst custom of all is our very own—on both sides of the Atlantic, I may say.”

“What’s that?” asked Hoover.

“To lace our women into whalebone corsets so tight that, doctors assure us, it damages their health far more than if we bound their feet like the Chinese.” He shook his head. “As for why human beings do these things, I have no idea.”

“What does the Chinese government say about foot-binding?” Hoover asked.

“The ruling Manchu don’t bind their women’s feet,” Morrison answered. “So I don’t think they care much one way or the other. It’s a Han Chinese custom. There’s social prestige involved, and naturally, they don’t like it when outsiders tell them how to live.”

“You’ve left one thing out,” Backhouse butted in. “It’s a fetish. The men get excited by the tiny feet, like little hooves, in silk and satin slippers.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I’m afraid it’s true,” said Emily.

“No need to say it,” growled her father.

“None at all,” said Mr. Hoover very firmly, giving Backhouse a furious look.

“The other thing the Boxers have going for them,” Morrison went on, “is their mystique. They’ve persuaded themselves and many of the people that they have magical powers. You know how superstitious the Chinese can be. I mean, we’ve had telegraph wires here for some years now, but many Chinese still think it’s some kind of black magic.”

“Henry’s got a telescope at the mission,” said Emily with a smile. “You know, on a tripod. Most of the converts won’t go near it because they think it’s a magical weapon of some kind.”

“You’ll find almost as much superstition in Gaelic Scotland, actually,” Trader reminded them. “And when you consider all the horrors we’ve brought here—like the iron gun ship in the Opium War, which they’d never seen before—if I were Chinese and I saw a barbarian with a strange tube on a tripod, I daresay I’d be pretty leery of it.”

“Chinese superstition may help us, strangely enough,” Morrison continued. “I was talking to Sir Robert Hart—who’s run the Chinese customs for forty years and knows more than anyone—and he told me that according to Chinese folklore, there’s a day coming up this September when cataclysms are supposed to occur. If the Boxers are going to stage something big, he says, that’s the day they’ll choose—which gives us nearly four months to prepare.”

“So, sir, are you reassured?” Trader asked Hoover.

“Not really. I’ve pulled my fellows out. Can’t risk their lives. The anthracite will have to wait. Lou and I leave for the coast tomorrow.”

“MacDonald says he’s had assurances