A hundred years ago very
little was known in the west about China. Apart from tales of explorers and
diplomats, and romanticised hearsay, much of Chinese culture was a mystery.
There wasn’t really anything you could describe as China studies, or sinology.
Few scholars had actually travelled there. As a consequence scholars who did
travel there became the authoritative sources.
Sadly, a lot of the early
academic writings about China in the 20th century which were taken as fact
turned out to be a catalogue of lies. The man responsible, particularly for his
alleged accounts of the last years of the Qing dynasty, was Sir Edmund
Backhouse, 2nd Bt, (1873-1944).
Whether Sir Edmund set out
to deliberately mislead the academic world is still a matter of debate, but his
most influential books, acclaimed as valuable sources for information, have
turned out to be based on forged or non-existent documents.
When did Sir Edmund’s
fascination with China begin? It wasn’t in his family background. He came from
a wealthy Quaker family to which he never really had any genuine emotional
connection. At Oxford University Edmund accumulated debts and spent more time
on socialising with various homosexual aesthetes than his studies. However, he
did find that he had a talent for languages and began studying various European
languages privately.
On leaving Oxford with no
degree Edmund was declared bankrupt and he travelled around the world for a
while. By 1898 he was learning Chinese, probably with the intention of going to
China, which he did at the end of that year.
By this time his family
had broken off all contact with him. His homosexual exploits at Oxford and his
bankruptcy had become an embarrassment to this Quaker family and it is said
that they gave him an ultimatum – leave England for good. Edmund did, however,
receive an allowance from his father, and after his father’s death in 1918 he
inherited his title and was allowed to keep his family estates, even though he
never set foot in England after 1898.
Edmund arrived in China
hoping to get work in the customs service. Instead he found unpaid work as a
translator for the prominent Times correspondent, George Morrison. Morrison
spoke or wrote no Chinese so he relied on Edmund Backhouse to translate
documents for him. This seems to have been the start of Edmund’s life of lies.
He gave background information of life at the imperial court for news reports
Morrison was sending to The Times. Most of this information wasn’t based on any
personal experience of the court itself.
Through Morrison Edmund
got to know another journalist, John Bland, with whom he published his first
volume of forgeries, “China Under the Empress Dowager”, in 1910. What the book
claimed to be was an accurate account of the life and death of Empress Tz’u
Hsi, or Cixi, and the Chinese court following the anti-British Boxer Rebellion.
The “insights” provided by Edmund Backhouse were supplemented by the personal
diary of a court official which Edmund has discovered and translated.
“China Under the Empress
Dowager” was an instant success with the academic world. However, suspicions
over the authenticity of the official’s diary were raised by George Morrison,
but Edmund’s reputation earned by this book was enough to have these suspicions
overlooked. But many years later, long after Edmund Backhouse had died,
Australian academics looked at the diaries more closely.
In 1991 Dr. Lo Hui-min of
the Australian National University published proof that the diaries, and
consequently most of “China Under the Empress Dowager”, were faked and that
Edmund had created it himself.
From the positive
reception his book received on its original publication Edmund Backhouse was
encouraged to write another with John Bland, “Annals and Memoirs of the Court
of Peking” (1914). Edmund hoped that his new-found reputation as a leading
sinologist would be enough to secure a professorship at Oxford. To this end he
began donating thousands of books and manuscripts to the Bodleian Library in
Oxford. Even though the library greatly acknowledged these gifts the
professorship in Chinese Studies was given to someone else.
By this time Edmund
Backhouse had become a serial fraudster. He was employed as an agent for the
British legation in Peking to sell battleships. He sold 6 non-existent
battleships, and invented a whole flotilla of imaginary ships carrying
imaginary military weapons, reporting on their transportation down the Chinese
coast to the British Foreign Office. He invented contracts, and sold 650
million non-existent banknotes to the American Bank Note Company. When the ship
magnates, banknote company and the Foreign Office came looking for their goods
Edmund Backhouse had escaped to Canada.
Perhaps his most
fantastical hoax came at the end of his life. In the late 1930s he sought
refuge from the Sino-Japanese War with the Austrian legation in Peking. Now
almost reclusive, Edmund was befriended by the Honorary Swiss Consul, Dr.
Reinhard Hoeppli.
Sir Edmund regaled Hoeppli
with tales of his supposed exploits, mostly about his supposed gay sexual
exploits and the homosexual underworld in old imperial Peking. He even claimed
to have had sex with the Dowager Empress herself. Hoeppli was captivated by
these stories and persuaded the aging Sir Edmund to write his memoirs. What
resulted was two volumes that were unpublished until this decade.
In the 1970s the British
historian Hugh Trever-Roper, Lord Dacre, used the unpublished memoirs to help
write a biography of Sir Edmund. Bear in mind that this is the same historian
who verified the Hitler Diaries. Also, to Lord Dacre the memoirs were
excessively homosexually pornographic for his own taste. Lord Dacre’s brother,
by the way, was Patrick Trevor-Roper, the gay rights pioneer.
Lord Dacre’s biography was
damning of Sir Edmund’s reputation as a scholar. Many of the stories recounted
in the memoirs may well have been based on a little truth but it seems certain
that the details had been elaborated and the famous individuals named by Sir
Edmund as his sexual partners were not true.
With the final publication
of the last part of Sir Edmund’s memoirs last year it seems certain that the
public is fascinated by this man and his many falsehoods. Rather than dismiss
him completely from academic studies of China academics can look again at this
hoaxer and his influence on early 20th century scholarship and examine the
nature of the use, accuracy and interpretation of source material.
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