Babel : Or the Necessity of Violence: an Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (9780063021440)

‘I do prefer when they underestimate us,’ Mr Baylis agreed. ‘Now, Robin Swift, the issue at hand is the opium bond, which would make all foreign ships assume responsibility before Chinese law for any opium they may smuggle in. It used to be that this ban existed on paper only. We’d dock our ships at – how shall we call them? – outer anchorages, like Lintin and Camsingmoon and such, where we’d distribute cargo for resale with local partners. But that’s all changed under Commissioner Lin. His arrival, as I’ve told you, was quite the shake-up. Captain Elliot – good man, but he’s a coward where it matters – defused the situation by letting them confiscate all the opium we had in our possession.’ Here Mr Baylis clutched his chest as if physically pained. ‘Over twenty thousand chests. Do you know how much that’s worth? Nearly two and a half million pounds. That’s unjust seizure of British property, I tell you. Surely that’s grounds for war. Captain Elliot thinks he saved us from starvation and violence, but he’s only shown the Chinese that they can walk all over us.’ Mr Baylis pointed his fork at Robin. ‘So that’s what we’ll need you for. Richard’s caught you up on what we want in this round of negotiations, yes?’

‘I’ve read through the proposal drafts,’ Robin said. ‘But I’m a bit confused on the priorities . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, it seems the ultimatum on opium is a bit extreme,’ said Robin. ‘I don’t see why you couldn’t break it into some more piecemeal deals. I mean, certainly you could still negotiate on all the other exports—’

‘There are no other exports,’ said Mr Baylis. ‘None that matter.’

‘It just seems that the Chinese have a rather good point,’ Robin said helplessly. ‘Given it’s such a harmful drug.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Mr Baylis smiled a wide, practised smile. ‘Smoking opium is the safest and most gentleman-like speculation I am aware of.’

This was such an obvious lie that Robin blinked at him, astounded. ‘The Chinese memorandums call it one of the greatest vices ever to plague their country.’

‘Oh, opium’s not as harmful as all that,’ said Reverend Gützlaff. ‘Indeed, it’s prescribed as laudanum in Britain all the time. Little old ladies regularly use it to go to sleep. It’s no more a vice than tobacco or brandy. I often recommend it to members of my congregation.’

‘But isn’t pipe opium a great deal stronger?’ Ramy cut in. ‘It really doesn’t seem like sleep aids are the issue here.’

‘That’s missing the point,’ said Mr Baylis with a touch of impatience. ‘The point is free trade between nations. We’re all liberals, aren’t we? There should be no restrictions between those who have goods and those who want to purchase them. That’s justice.’

‘A curious defence,’ said Ramy, ‘to justify a vice with virtue.’

Mr Baylis scoffed. ‘Oh, the Qing Emperor doesn’t care about vices. He’s stingy about his silver, that’s all. But trade only works when there’s give and take, and currently we’re sitting at a deficit. There’s nothing we have that those Chinamen want, apparently, except opium. They can’t get enough of the stuff. They’ll pay anything for it. And if I had my way, every man, woman, and child in this country would be puffing opium smoke until they couldn’t think straight.’

He concluded by slamming his hand against the table. The noise was perhaps louder than he intended; it cracked like a gunshot. Victoire and Letty flinched back. Ramy looked too amazed to reply.

‘But that’s cruel,’ said Robin. ‘That’s – that’s terribly cruel.’

‘It’s their free choice, isn’t it?’ Mr Baylis said. ‘You can’t fault business. Chinamen are simply filthy, lazy, and easily addicted. And you certainly can’t blame England for the foibles of an inferior race. Not where there’s money to be made.’

‘Mr Baylis.’ Robin’s fingers tingled with a strange and urgent energy; he didn’t know whether he wanted to bolt or to hit the man. ‘Mr Baylis, I’m a Chinaman.’

Mr Baylis, for once, fell silent. His eyes roved over Robin’s face, as if trying to detect the truth of this statement in his features. Then, to Robin’s great surprise, he burst out laughing.

‘No, you’re not.’ He leaned back and clasped his hands over his chest, still guffawing. ‘Good Lord. That’s hilarious. No, you’re not.’

Professor Lovell said nothing.

Translation work began promptly the next day. Good linguists were always in heavy demand at Canton, and were pulled in a dozen different directions whenever they did show up. Western traders did not like using the government-licensed native Chinese linguists because their language skills were so often subpar.

‘Forget English,’ complained Mr Baylis to Professor Lovell, ‘half of them aren’t even fluent in Mandarin. And you can’t trust them to represent your interests besides. You can always tell when they’re not giving you the truth – I once had a man lie to my face about the customs rates when the Arabic numerals were right there.’