Chapter 15

January 1838.

A new year had dawned.

Yet the original meaning behind the word ‘new year’ could not be found in Britain at present.

Lin Zexu’s letter, having arrived from Guangzhou.

That single sheet of paper was shaking the entire British political establishment.

Within that flimsy paper, destined to scatter at a single breath of wind, lay questions challenging Britain’s conscience, and Britain was trembling as it confronted the weight of those questions.

Royal Grade Laudanum.

Because of a novel opium that had never existed in original history, the opium issue between our Britain and Qing China erupted a full year earlier than in actual history, and moreover, in the worst possible form involving the British royal family.

A month later, in February 1838, after Parliament reconvened following its recess, the Westminster Parliament turned into a daily pandemonium once the events that transpired in Guangzhou were communicated. Lawmakers shouted at one another while thrusting fingers, and that noise seemed to blanket the skies of London and reach right here into Buckingham Palace.

The Court of Requests within the Palace of Westminster.

This space, temporarily utilized in place of the House of Commons chamber that had been destroyed by a fire four years prior, had now become an arena where shouting, heat, and ambition intertwined, whatever its original purpose might have been.
With its low ceiling, there was no gap for the sound to escape, and the lawmakers’ voices slammed against the walls and returned, amplified by themselves.

Regardless of party affiliation, lawmakers pointed fingers at one another and raised their bloodshot veins.

A legislative chamber should inherently be a space of reason, but reason proved to be nothing more than an overcoat cast off first in the face of interests.

“The incident that occurred in Guangzhou is a blatantly anti-civilized, barbaric act! We must no longer sit idly by at Qing China’s outrageous tyranny threatening the sacred property and lives of British subjects!”

As a young Whig lawmaker shouted with a face dyed beet red, Viscount Palmerston sitting next to him nodded with a faint smile lingering on his lips, looking well pleased.
Within that smile lay the calculation of a seasoned politician borrowing the youthful vigor of a young man as his own weapon.

“An infringement of property rights, you say? The Honourable Member who spoke last!”

William Gladstone sprang to his feet, his blue eyes brimming with fury.

The young blood of the Conservative Party, having just turned thirty.

Usually a calm and logical fellow, there exists for certain human beings an unassailable inner sanctuary, and when that sanctuary is violated, habitual gentleness inevitably vanishes. To him, the laudanum issue was precisely that sanctuary.

“What they committed was an act of peddling poison! A hideous poison that destroys human souls! Are you lawmakers shielding those who perpetrated such wickedness?”

However, against his outcry, a Whig lawmaker known to maintain a cozy relationship with the firm Jardine Matheson stepped up. His posture was relaxed, and his voice was calm. This very calmness was the true face of evil. Evil does not shriek. Evil always appears cloaked in rationality and merely paralyzes conscience with cold logic.

“Mr. Speaker, the Honourable Member for Newark has boasted magnificent eloquence as always, but although the gentleman’s arguments may be praiseworthy in terms of morality, they appear to overlook the desperate reality and grave insults suffered by Her Majesty’s subjects.”

Praiseworthy in terms of morality, but…

Within that sentence was compressed all the tragedy of politics in this era. Morality is an object of praise, but not something to be followed. Morality is a mere decoration, nothing more than a flower vase suitable for placement upon the table of practical politics—beautiful yet useless. The unwritten rule of this era was that even if the flower vase broke, dinner must go on.

“To be sure, selling laudanum cannot be said to be morally perfect! Yet! Do you realize what an immense quantity of silver flows from our country into that uncivilized East due to the severe trade imbalance with Qing China? Laudanum and opium are vital revenue sources indispensable to the finances of our Indian colony! And above all, is it not that the people of Qing China purchase them of their own accord, rather than us shoving them down their throats by force?”

With those words, another Whig lawmaker cried out, urging that they raise high the banner of free trade.

“Was not free trade the foundational principle guiding our great Britain? Qing China insists on a single port named Guangzhou and seriously obstructs the free and fair trade we pursue through a monopoly system called the Cohong! Even if we must mobilize military force, we must compel them to step into the arena of civilized order! We must strongly demand the opening of more ports!”

Civilization.

When that word was dropped, Gladstone’s brow twitched.

Waging barbarism in the name of civilization.

That was precisely the most cunning political rhetoric invented by this era.

Breaking down another’s door with swords and cannons while claiming to have come to open your door. What could be more ironic than selling poison while claiming to have come to awaken you?

“Free trade is all well and good, but Qing China likewise possesses the sacred sovereignty to control trade in accordance with its own laws and order! How dare we ruthlessly trample upon their sovereignty with the power of military force!”

As Gladstone raised his voice once more, Sir Robert Peel, the giant of the Conservative Party sitting beside him, likewise nodded silently with a troubled expression.

At that moment, Viscount Palmerston sprang to his feet.

“Mr. Speaker, and esteemed fellow members! The measures of confiscating and destroying laudanum clearly infringed upon the property rights of British merchants! Not only that! They did not hesitate to commit insults and threats against our official, Sir Charles Elliot, and innocent British subjects! This is a direct challenge to the honor of our great nation! A strong and resolute response is required!”

The atmosphere heightened at his remarks, and confirming that public opinion was favorable, Viscount Palmerston drove in the wedge.

“Qing China refuses to recognize us as an equal diplomatic counterpart and insults our nation’s flag as though granting us a massive favor! We must decisively alter their arrogant and presumptuous attitude through this opportunity and establish an equal and fair diplomatic relationship! Even if we must resort to guns and swords!”

At his resolute tone, the Whig lawmakers and several Conservative members broke into simultaneous cheers, as though urging war right away.

Then Gladstone took that up and spoke clearly enough to ring through the entire chamber.

“The Foreign Secretary seems to believe that the might of our military can rectify what diplomacy has failed to achieve. However, I fear that this path will lead to an even greater disgrace. Already, wild and disgraceful rumors are circulating in London’s high society that ‘Her Majesty the Queen and our royal house support this shameful opium trade.’ Yet if we were to declare war to protect this hideous profit, have you considered what consequences will follow?”

The moment the royal house and Queen Victoria were mentioned from Gladstone’s lips, the assembly hall instantly plunged into silence.

“Mr. Speaker, I know of no war more unjust than the one our government contemplates, nor one that will inflict greater disgrace upon this nation in the process. We are forsaking the principles of justice, and this will ultimately recoil upon us with greater harm. Furthermore, the authority of Her Majesty the Queen and the royal house will plummet overnight. Every honorable member present here, are you truly all confident?”

At his meaningful words, the legislative hall began to stir once more.

Justification for war was one thing, but the immense political burden and loss of royal prestige that would befall a newly ascended young queen were far too realistic issues that no one could easily overlook.

“Your Majesty, I apologize, but Parliament is continuing its debates today as well regarding various countermeasures, including the commencement of war.”

Looking emaciated, Lord Melbourne detailed the situation in Parliament to me.
A few more deep wrinkles seemed to have multiplied upon his smooth forehead, and an unmistakable fatigue was evident in his gaze.

Pity stirred in a corner of my heart, but pity was pity and business was business. I lowered my teacup and opened my mouth.

“I worry whether it is a war that is truly necessary.”

“…”

“Other countries as well might scoff if they learn we are holding discussions over something like this. The British royal house decided upon a war in order to peddle laudanum. Would that not be rather difficult to grasp readily?”

At my words, Lord Melbourne looked up at me with weary eyes.

“Your Majesty, it is merely a matter perpetrated by merchants. It has no bearing upon the honor of the royal house.”

“It is not without bearing. They say hundreds and thousands of bottles stamped with the royal crest were unearthed—how can it be without bearing? People everywhere will think our royal house pulled the strings behind the drug trade.”

“The merchants arbitrarily misappropriated the royal crest…”

“The point is that the milk is already spilled. What we need right now is not war, but a discussion on how to clean up this filthy mess, is it not?”

At my firmness, Lord Melbourne let out a deep sigh. Gazing at the ceiling as though gathering his words for a moment, he opened his mouth cautiously.

“Your Majesty, have you perhaps never considered a thought such as this?”

“What sort of thought do you mean?”

“Why on earth those merchants went all the way to Qing China, so far away, to sell laudanum in the first place.”

Because it makes money, that’s why.

Answering inwardly, I waited for his next words. Why was he speaking of something so obvious with such a solemn air?

“Originally, those were fellows who made a tidy profit selling laudanum right here in London. Among nobles and high society, not to mention the bourgeoisie as well. Laudanum was a truly splendid business tool.”

“…”

“Yet, from some point onward, the atmosphere changed. Rumors began spreading that the royal house was shunning laudanum and that Your Majesty was openly criticizing it.”

Lord Melbourne gazed at me with a peculiar look in his eyes.

“As a result, the merchants were left with piles of inventory and faced the threat of bankruptcy.”

“So… what is it you want to say?”

A vague, ominous premonition grazed down my spine. Surely not.

“Since Your Majesty blocked their business within Britain… did they not inevitably turn their eyes toward Qing China in search of new markets?”

In an instant, my mind turned completely blank.

Wh… what?

Did I hear that right? What on earth did this gentleman just say?

Is he implying that this entire debacle is ultimately my fault?

My goodness, what kind of novel brand of utter nonsense is this?

Isn’t this like someone caught drunk driving arguing that they would never have gotten behind the steering wheel if you hadn’t invited them to the drinking party in the first place?

I was left speechless by a logical progression that transcended absurdity and bordered on the miraculous.

Let’s compose ourselves. This is 19th-century Britain. Not a place where 21st-century common sense applies.

Lord Melbourne was dead serious. There was not a shred of sarcasm or jest in his eyes. He was merely explaining a causal relationship that seemed entirely rational to him. Precisely because he was sincere, it was all the more terrifying an utterance. Words born of malice can be rebutted, but where on earth does one begin correcting a distortion born of good intentions?

The merchants’ business was blocked. So they carved out another path. How wonderfully rational.

The fact that that path gnawed away at the souls of a foreign land was merely a secondary issue.

The logic of this era operated in precisely this manner. The chain of causation was always on the side of the actor, and the face of the victim never caught anywhere upon the links of that chain.

“It sounds as though Your Lordship’s words are… ultimately implying that this is my responsibility.”

When I spoke with forced calmness, Lord Melbourne waved his hands dismissively.

“I am not blaming Your Majesty. I simply wished to state that every event has a cause.”

The chain of causation always changed direction depending upon whose hands it was grasped in. If one grasped the same chain from one end, it became the story of a victim; grasped from the opposite end, it became the excuse of a perpetrator. Lord Melbourne was holding that opposite end. And he was completely unaware of even which end he was holding.

“A cause, you say… Well, be that as it may, are there no other ways? Is it truly necessary to go so far as to wage war?”

“Short of war, there is no way to break their momentum.”

Lord Melbourne’s reply was resolute.

“Right now, the merchants backed by the East India Company wield tremendous influence in Parliament. They wish to blow wide open the doors of Qing China through this opportunity. If we back down here…”

“If we back down?”

“We may have to withdraw from Qing China entirely. All our merchants will be expelled, and trade will be completely halted.”

At his words, I was momentarily at a loss for speech. The situation was tangled far more severely than I had thought. The kind of tangle where if you try to pull a single thread, the entire fabric unravels.

“Furthermore… Your Majesty.”

Lord Melbourne continued, lowering his voice.

“The tea will be cut off.”

“Pardon?”

“Tea, I mean. If trade with Qing China is severed, we Britons will no longer be able to drink the tea we love so dearly.”

Only then did I realize.

The true problem to these people was neither the immorality of opium, nor the cruelty of war, nor the violation of a foreign nation’s sovereignty. Beneath all those justifications flowed black tea.

A warm cup of afternoon tea. To protect that tiny ritual, they were willing to turn an entire continent into a battlefield even if it meant burning it down.

Because of black tea.

I couldn’t tell whether I should laugh or cry.

Yet it wasn’t that I didn’t understand.

Are not human true motives always found in the smallest things?

For the trivial desires hidden behind ideologies are precisely the real forces that move history.

And that triviality is precisely the most irremediable tragedy of all tragedies.

“Not merely as a luxury item, but the tariffs levied upon tea imports alone for a single year exceed 10 percent of the annual budget. Should trade with Qing China be severed, our government may immediately face a severe financial crisis.”

His words were numbers, and numbers were honest.

Yet behind those numbers lay tens of thousands of souls withering away in the opium dens of Guangzhou, and those souls were recorded nowhere in the British government’s account books.

What was not written in the ledger did not exist.

That was the accounting science of the modern state, and simultaneously the conscience of the modern state.

“Moreover… from nobles down to factory laborers, it is a beverage consumed daily by every Briton. If this were to be cut off overnight… would not widespread social unrest and chaos ensue?”

A sigh burst forth naturally.

I had merely intended to drive out laudanum, but now, to prevent trade with Qing China from being severed, I was told we must wage war. If not that, we would no longer be able to drink black tea, and the government would suffer a financial crisis.

What kind of soap opera is this?

Yet if Lord Melbourne had gone so far as to say this, it could be said that the common consensus currently held among nobles and in Parliament was precisely this.

Is there no way… something that could alter the perception of Parliament and the nobles?

At that moment, a past memory flashed through my mind.

Back when I was conducting whistleblowing against the company, I had stood as a witness at a hearing with the help of a member of parliament.

Before broadcast cameras, all the evidence and testimony I possessed spread nationwide, turning the entire country upside down. And as a consequence of that fallout, didn’t Parliament revise the special act concerning the protection of whistleblowers?

A hearing…

Now that I think of it, didn’t Victoria’s diary contain something similar?