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Title: China under the Empress Dowager : Being the history of the life and times of Tzŭ Hsi
Author: Backhouse, Edmund, Bland, J. O. P. (John Otway Percy)
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "China under the Empress Dowager : Being the history of the life and times of Tzŭ Hsi" ***
CHINA UNDER THE EMPRESS DOWAGER
[Illustration: THE “HOLY MOTHER,” HER MAJESTY TZŬ HSI.
(From a Photograph taken in 1903.)]
CHINA UNDER THE
EMPRESS DOWAGER
BEING THE HISTORY OF THE LIFE AND
TIMES OF TZŬ HSI
COMPILED FROM STATE PAPERS AND THE
PRIVATE DIARY OF THE COMPTROLLER OF
HER HOUSEHOLD
BY
J. O. P. BLAND AND E. BACKHOUSE
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MCMX
_Printed in England_
NOTE
The thanks of the Authors are hereby gratefully expressed to Miss
Katharine A. Carl, for permission to reproduce the photograph of her
portrait of the Empress Dowager; to Mr. K. Ogawa, art publisher of Tokyo,
for the use of his unique pictures of the Palace at Peking; to Mr. Geo.
Bronson Rea, of the _Far Eastern Review_, for permission to reproduce
illustrations originally published in that journal; to Messrs. Betines,
of Peking, for the right to publish their views of the capital; and to
the Editor of _The Times_, for his courtesy in permitting the inclusion
in this volume of certain articles written for that paper.
LONDON, _September 10th, 1910_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I
THE PARENTAGE AND YOUTH OF YEHONALA 1
II
THE FLIGHT TO JEHOL 14
III
THE TSAI YÜAN CONSPIRACY 30
IV
THE FIRST REGENCY 51
V
TSENG KUO-FAN AND THE TAIPING REBELLION (1864) 64
VI
TZŬ HSI AND THE EUNUCHS 81
VII
A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE 110
VIII
MAJORITY AND DEATH OF THE EMPEROR T’UNG-CHIH 117
IX
THE PROTEST AND SUICIDE OF WU K’O-TU 132
X
TZŬ HSI BECOMES SOLE REGENT 148
XI
TZŬ HSI “EN RETRAITE” 161
XII
THE REFORM MOVEMENT OF 1898 178
XIII
THE HUNDRED DAYS OF REFORM 190
XIV
THE _COUP D’ÉTAT_ OF 1898 201
XV
TZŬ HSI RESUMES THE REGENCY (1898) 211
XVI
THE GENESIS OF THE BOXER MOVEMENT 246
XVII
THE DIARY OF HIS EXCELLENCY CHING SHAN 251
XVIII
IN MEMORY OF TWO BRAVE MEN 307
XIX
SIDELIGHTS ON TZŬ HSI’S STATECRAFT 327
XX
THE FLIGHT FROM PEKIN AND THE COURT IN EXILE 340
XXI
HOW THE BOXER LEADERS DIED 363
XXII
THE OLD BUDDHA PENITENT 375
XXIII
THE RETURN OF THE COURT TO PEKING 387
XXIV
HER MAJESTY’S NEW POLICY 417
XXV
THE VALEDICTORY MEMORIAL OF JUNG LU 436
XXVI
HER MAJESTY’S LAST DAYS 443
XXVII
TZŬ HSI’S DEATH AND BURIAL 464
XXVIII
CONCLUSION 476
APPENDIX 499
INDEX 517
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
THE “HOLY MOTHER,” HER MAJESTY TZŬ HSI _Frontispiece_
MAP OF PEKING xii, xiii
THE REGENT PRINCE CH’UN, WITH HIS TWO SONS, THE PRESENT
EMPEROR (STANDING) AND PRINCE P’U CHIEH 4
THE IMPERIAL DAÏS IN THE CHIAO-TAL HALL 18
H.I.H. P’U JU, COUSIN OF THE PRESENT EMPEROR, SON OF THE
BOXER PRINCE TSAI-YING, AND GRANDSON OF PRINCE KUNG 20
HER MAJESTY TZŬ HSI IN THE YEAR 1903 36
EXTERIOR OF THE CH’IEN CH’ING PALACE 54
H.M. TZŬ HSI, WITH THE CONSORT (LUNG YÜ) AND PRINCIPAL
CONCUBINE (JEN FEI) OF H.M. KUANG-HSÜ, ACCOMPANIED BY
COURT LADIES AND EUNUCHS 90
FACSIMILE OF LETTER WRITTEN BY CHIEF EUNUCH LI LIEN-YING 98
INTERIOR OF THE YANG HSIN TIEN. (PALACE OF “MIND NURTURE.”) 122
INTERIOR OF THE I KUN KUNG 148
INTERIOR OF THE TAI HO TIEN 166
CIRCULAR THRONE HALL IN THE GROUNDS OF THE LAKE PALACE LOOTED
BY ALLIED TROOPS IN 1900 208
PAVILION ON LAKE TO THE WEST OF FORBIDDEN CITY 208
THE “BEILEH” TSAI YING, SON OF PRINCE KUNG (CASHIERED BY TZŬ
HSI FOR PRO-BOXER PROCLIVITIES), AND HIS SON 252
H.M. THE EMPRESS DOWAGER AND LADIES OF HER COURT (1903) 256
THE TA-A-KO, SON OF PRINCE TUAN, THE BOXER LEADER 280
REPRODUCTION OF PICTURE PAINTED ON SILK BY HER MAJESTY TZŬ HSI 284
FACSIMILE OF A FRAGMENT OF THE DIARY 299
DAUGHTERS OF A HIGH MANCHU OFFICIAL OF THE COURT 302
MARBLE BRIDGE IN THE GROUNDS OF THE LAKE PALACE 350
IN THE GROUNDS OF THE PALACE IN THE WESTERN PARK 350
HIS HIGHNESS PRINCE TSAI HSÜN 386
VIEW, FROM THE K’UN MING LAKE, OF THE SUMMER PALACE 452
THE EMPRESS DOWAGER, WITH THE CHIEF EUNUCH, LI LIEN-YING 454
THE SON OF HEAVEN 458
MARBLE BRIDGE OVER THE LAKE IN THE WESTERN PARK WHICH SURROUNDS
THE LAKE PALACE 474
“TI WANG MIAO” OR TEMPLE TO THE MEMORY OF VIRTUOUS EMPERORS OF
PREVIOUS DYNASTIES 474
PORTRAIT OF THE EMPRESS DOWAGER 482
THE IMPERIAL DAÏS IN THE CH’IEN CH’ING HALL 498
CEILING AND PILLARS OF THE TAI HO TIEN 510
INDEX TO NUMBERED MAP OF PEKING
[Illustration: MAP OF PEKING.]
(1) Tung Hua Men, the East Gate Glorious. This is the usual entrance to
the Forbidden City for officials attending audience when the Court is
there resident. (It was here that was suspended in a basket the head of
the foreigner captured by the Boxers on 20th June.)
(2) Huang Chi Tien, or Throne Hall of Imperial Supremacy. In this Hall
the Empress Dowager, after the return of the Court from exile, was
accustomed to receive her officials in audience on the rare occasions
when she lived in the Forbidden City. It was here that her remains lay
for nearly a year awaiting the day of burial.
(3) Ning Shou Kung, or Palace of Peaceful Longevity. Here the Old Buddha
resided during the siege; here she buried her treasure. She returned
hither after the days of exile and lived in it pending the restoration of
the Lake Palace, desecrated by the foreign occupation.
(4) Chien Ching Kung, or Palace of Heavenly Purity. The Hall in which
China’s Emperors were accustomed to give audience to the Grand Council.
After the Boxer rising, in accordance with the new ceremonial laid down
by the Peace Protocol, the Diplomatic Body were received here. In this
Hall the Emperor Kuang Hsü discussed and decided with K’ang Yu-wei the
reform programme of 1898, and it was here that his body lay awaiting
sepulture between November 1898 and February 1909.
(5) Shen Wu Men, or Gate of Divine Military Genius. Through this, the
Northern gate of the City, the Old Buddha fled in the dawn of the 15th
August, 1900.
(6) The Rock-garden in which Her Majesty used to walk during the days of
the siege of the Legations and from which she witnessed the burning of
the Hanlin Academy.
(7) Yang Hsin Tien, or Throne Hall of Mental Growth. In this Palace the
Emperor T’ung-Chih resided during the whole of his reign.
(8) Hsi Hua Men, or West Gate Glorious. One of the main entrances to the
Forbidden City.
(9) Tai Ho Tien, Throne Hall of Exalted Peace. Used only on occasions
of High ceremony, such as the accession of a new Emperor, an Imperial
birthday celebration, or the New Year ceremonies.
(10) Shou Huang Tien, or Throne Hall of Imperial Longevity. In this
building the reigning sovereign unrolls on the day of the New Year the
portraits of deceased Emperors, and pays sacrifice to them.
(11) Hsi Yüan Men, Western Park Gate. It is through this that the Grand
Council and other high officials pass to audience when the sovereign is
in residence at the Lake Palace.
(12) At this gate the Emperor was wont to await, humbly kneeling, the
arrival of the Old Buddha on her way to or from the Summer Palace.
(13) The Altar of Silkworms, at which the Empress Consort must sacrifice
once a year, and where the Old Buddha sacrificed on occasion.
(14) A Lama Temple where the Old Buddha frequently worshipped.
(15) Ta Hsi Tien. The Temple of the Great Western Heaven. A famous
Buddhist shrine built in the reign of the Emperor Kang Hsi.
(16) The Old Catholic Church built within the Palace precincts by
permission of the Emperor Kang-Hsi. It was converted by the Empress
Dowager into a Museum in which was kept the collection of stuffed birds
made by the missionary Père David. Eye-witnesses of the siege of the
French Cathedral in 1900 have stated that the Empress and several of
the ladies of the Court ascended to the roof of this building to watch
the attack on the Christians; but it is not likely that they exposed
themselves for any great length of time in what must have been a
dangerous position.
(17) Tzu Kuang Ko: Throne Hall of Purple Effulgence. The building in
which the Emperor is wont to receive, and entertain at a banquet, the
Dalai and Panshen Lamas and certain feudatory chiefs. Before 1900,
Foreign Envoys were also received here.
(18) Ching Cheng Tien, or Throne Hall of Diligent Government. Used for
the audiences of the Grand Council when the Court was in residence at the
Lake Palace.
(19) Li Yüan Tien: Throne Hall of Ceremonial Phœnixes. Part of the
Empress Dowager’s new Palace, built for her in the early years of Kuang
Hsü’s reign. Here she received birthday congratulations when resident at
the Lake Palace, and here she gave her valedictory audience, just before
her death.
(20) Ying Tai, or Ocean Terrace, where the Emperor Kuang Hsü was kept
under close surveillance after the _coup d’état_ in 1898, and which he
never left (except on one occasion when he attempted to escape) between
September 1898 and March 1900. By means of a drawbridge, this Ocean
Terrace was made a secure place of confinement. After the return of the
Court in 1902, His Majesty lived here again, but under less restraint,
and it was here that he met his death.
(21) At this point stood the high mound which Her Majesty is reported
to have ascended on the night of 13th June, 1900, to watch the
conflagrations in various parts of the city.
(22) The White Pagoda, built in the time of the Yüan dynasty (_circa_
1290 A.D.), when the artificial lake was also made.
(23) Wan Shou ssŭ, the Temple of Imperial Longevity. Here the Empress was
accustomed to sacrifice on her journeys to and from the Summer Palace.
(24) The residence of Ching Shan, where the Diary was written.
(25) The residence of Wen Lien, Comptroller of the Household and friend
of Ching Shan.
(26) Residence of Jung Lu.
(27) Place of the Princess Imperial, the daughter of Prince Kung, whom
the Empress Dowager adopted.
(28) Birthplace of the present infant Emperor, Hsüan T’ung, son of Prince
Ch’un and grandson of Jung Lu. In accordance with prescribed custom, it
will be converted into a shrine.
(29) Birthplace of H.M. Kuang Hsü. Half of this building has been
converted into a shrine in honour of His Majesty, and the other half into
a memorial temple to the first Prince Ch’un, grandfather of the present
infant Emperor.
(30) Pewter Lane, where Yehonala was born.
(31) Palace of Duke Chao, younger brother of Tzŭ Hsi.
(32) Palace of Duke Kuei Hsiang, elder brother of Tzŭ Hsi and father of
the present Empress Dowager.
(33) At this point was erected the scaffolding from which guns were
trained on the Legations. The soldiers on duty here were quartered in the
house of Ching Shan.
(34) The execution ground where were put to death the Reformers of 1898
and the Ministers who, in 1900, protested against the attack on the
Legations.
(35) The residence, in 1861 of Tsai Yüan, hereditary Prince Yi, who was
put to death by Tzŭ Hsi for usurping the Regency.
(36) Residence of Tuan Hua, the Co-Regent with Tsai Yüan, also allowed to
commit suicide in 1861.
(37) The Imperial Clan Court, in which is the “Empty Chamber,” where the
usurping Princes met their death.
(38) Residence of the “Beileh” Tsai Ying, son of Prince Kung, cashiered
for complicity in the Boxer rising.
(39) The site of the Chan-Ta-ssu, a famous Lama Temple, destroyed by the
French in 1900 for having been a Boxer drilling ground.
(40) Residence of the Chief Eunuch, Li Lien-ying.
(41) Now the Belgian Legation premises, but formerly the residence of
the Boxer protagonist, Hsü T’ung, that fierce old Imperial Tutor whose
ambition it was to have his cart covered with the skins of foreign devils.
(42) The Imperial Canal, by way of which the Old Buddha used to proceed
in her State barge to the Summer Palace.
(43) The graves of the Empress Dowager’s parents. They are adorned with
two marble pillars, bearing laudatory inscriptions.
(44) Here was erected the temporary railway station at which the Empress
alighted on her return from exile.
(45) In the north-west corner of the enceinte of the Chien Men, a shrine
at which the Empress Dowager and the Emperor sacrificed to the tutelary
god of the dynasty (Kuan Yü), the patron saint of the Boxers.
(46) At this point many Christians were massacred on the night of 13th
June, 1900.
(47) Palace of Prince Chuang, the Boxer leader, mentioned by Ching Shan
as the place where the Christians were tried.
(48) Residence of Yüan Ch’ang, where he was arrested for denouncing the
Boxers.
(49) Residence of the Grand Secretary, Wang Wen-shao.
(50) Residence of Yang Li-shan, the President of the Board of Revenue,
executed by order of Prince Tuan.
(51) Residence of Duke Lan, the Boxer leader. At present occupied by
Prince Pu Chün, the deposed Heir to the Throne and a most notorious
reprobate.
(52) Tzŭ Ning Kung, or Palace of Maternal Tranquillity, where the Empress
Dowager Tzŭ An resided during most of the years of the Co-Regency.
(53) Chang Ch’un Kung, or Palace of Perpetual Spring, where Tzŭ Hsi
resided during the reign of T’ung-Chih.
(54) Residence of the actors engaged for Palace performances.
(55) The Nei Wu Fu, or Imperial Household Department Offices.
(56) The Taoist Temple (Ta Kao Tien), where the Emperor prays for rain or
snow.
(57), (58) In these two Palaces resided the chief Imperial concubines.
After Tzŭ Hsi’s resumption of the Regency in 1898, Kuang Hsü and His
Consort occupied small apartments at the back of her Palace, on the brief
visits of the Court to the Forbidden City.
(59) Chung Ho Tien, or Throne Hall of Permanent Harmony. Here H.M. Kuang
Hsü was arrested in September 1898 and taken away to confinement in the
“Ocean Terrace.”
I
THE PARENTAGE AND YOUTH OF YEHONALA
The family of Yehonala, one of the oldest of the Manchu clans, traces
its descent in direct line to Prince Yangkunu, whose daughter married
(in 1588) Nurhachu, the real founder of Manchu rule in China and the
first direct ancestor of the Ta Ching Emperors. Yangkunu was killed at
Mukden in 1583, in one of his raids upon the territories which still owed
allegiance to the degenerate Chinese sovereign Wan Li. His clan lived and
flourished in that region, near the Corean border, which is dominated by
the Long White Mountain, the true cradle of the Manchu stock. He and his
people seem to have acquired the arts of war, and much lust of conquest,
by constantly harassing the rich lands on their ever-shifting borders,
those rich lands which to-day seem to be about to pass under the yoke of
new invaders. Yangkunu’s daughter assumed the title of Empress by right
of her husband’s conquests, and her son it was who eventually wrested the
whole of Manchuria from the Ming Dynasty and reigned under the name of
Tien-Ts’ung.
Into this clan, in November 1835, was born Yehonala, whose life was
destined to influence countless millions of human beings, Yehonala, who
was to be thrice Regent of China and its autocratic ruler for over half a
century. Her father, whose name was Hui Cheng, held hereditary rank as
Captain in one of the Eight Banner Corps. Considering the advantages of
his birth, he was generally accounted unsuccessful by his contemporaries;
at the time of his death he had held no higher post than that of an
Intendant of Circuit, or Taotai. Holding this rank in the province of
Anhui, he died when his daughter was but three years of age. His widow
and family were well cared for by a kinsman named Muyanga, father of her
who subsequently became Empress Consort of Hsien-Feng and Co-Regent with
Yehonala. From him the children received every advantage of education.
Many unfounded and ridiculous stories have been circulated in recent
years attributing to the Empress Dowager humble, and sometimes
disgraceful, antecedents. Many of these are nothing more than the fruit
of Yellow Journalism, seeking sensational material of the kind which
appeals to the iconoclastic instincts of its readers. Others, however,
undoubtedly owe their origin to the envy, hatred and malice of Palace
intrigues, to the initiative of the Iron-capped Princes and other high
officials of the elder branch of the Imperial family, many of whom were
addicted to besmirching the family and character of Tzŭ Hsi in order to
inflict “loss of face” on the Yehonala clan. In this way, and because mud
thrown from above usually sticks, their malicious stories were freely
circulated, and often believed, in Peking and in the South: witness the
writings of K’ang Yu-wei and his contemporaries.[1]
To cite an instance. One of these mythical stories used to be told, with
every appearance of good faith, by Prince Tun, the fifth son of the
Emperor Tao-Kuang. This Prince cherished a grudge against Tzŭ Hsi because
of his disappointed ambitions: adopted himself out of the direct line of
succession, he had nevertheless hoped, in 1875, that his son would have
been chosen Emperor. The story, as he used to tell it, was that when the
Empress’s mother had been left a widow with a large family (including
the future ruler of China) they lived in the most abject poverty at
the prefectural city of Ningkuo, where her husband had held office and
died. Having no funds to pay for her return to Peking, she would have
been reduced to beggary had it not been that, by a lucky accident, a sum
of money intended for another traveller was delivered on board of her
boat at a city on the way, and that the traveller, on learning of the
mistake and being moved to pity at the sight of the family’s destitution,
insisted on her keeping the money. Twenty-five years later, when Tzŭ Hsi
had become the all-powerful Regent, this official appeared for audience
at Peking, when, remembering the benefits received at his hands, the
Empress raised him from his knees and expressed her gratitude for his
kindness. The story is prettier than many which emanate from the same
source, and original, too, in the idea of a Manchu official dying at his
provincial post in abject poverty, but unfortunately for the truth of the
narrative, it has been established beyond shadow of doubt that neither
the wife nor the family of Tzŭ Hsi’s father were with him at the time of
his death. They had gone on ahead to Peking, in anticipation of his early
return thither to take up a new appointment in the White Banner Corps.
Before proceeding further, it may be well to refer briefly to the
Yehonala clan and its position in relation to the elder branch of the
Imperial family, a question of no small importance, past and future, in
its effect on the history of modern China. Jealousy and friction there
have always been between the Imperial house and this powerful patrician
clan, since the first Yehonala became _de facto_ ruler of the Empire
after the collapse of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy, but their relations
became more markedly strained after the _coup d’état_ in 1898, and
although the wholesome fear of the Empress Dowager’s “divine wrath”
prevented any definite cleavage, the possibilities of trouble were ever
latent in the Forbidden City. Recent events at Peking, and especially the
dismissal of the Chihli Viceroy, Tuan Fang, for alleged irreverence at
the funeral ceremonies of the late Empress Dowager, have emphasised the
divisions in the Manchu camp and the dangers that beset its Government,
now bereft of the strong hand of Tzŭ Hsi. It is difficult for foreigners
to form any clear idea of the actual conditions of life and of party
divisions in the Palace, confused as they are by intricate questions
of genealogy, of inter-marriage and adoptions by relatives, of ancient
clan feuds. It should, however, be explained that the Imperial Clansmen
(known in their own tongue as Aisin Gioros) divided into the Yellow and
Red Girdles, are the descendants respectively of Nurhachu himself and
of that ruler’s ancestors, by virtue of which ancestry they consider
themselves (and the Chinese would recognise the claim) to be the _sang
pur_ and highest nobility of the Manchu Dynasty. The Yehonala clan,
although in no sense of Royal blood (as marriages between the sovereign
and female members of a family do not entitle that family to claim more
than noble rank) owes its great power not only to its numbers, but to
the fact that it has given three Empresses Dowager to the Empire; but,
above all, to the great prestige and personal popularity of Tzŭ Hsi. If
recent events are to be interpreted in the light of history, and of her
significant death-bed mandate, the present leaders of the Yehonala clan
are determined that the present Empress Dowager, the widow of Kuang-Hsü,
shall follow in the footsteps of her august aunt, and control the
business of the State, at least during the Regency. And, thanks to Tzŭ
Hsi’s far-seeing statecraft, the young Emperor is a grandson of Jung Lu,
and may be expected therefore to reverence the policy handed down by the
Old Buddha.
[Illustration: THE REGENT, PRINCE CH’UN, WITH HIS TWO SONS, THE PRESENT
EMPEROR (STANDING) AND PRINCE P’U CHIEH.]
One long-standing cause of suspicion and dissension between the
parties in the Palace arises from the fear of the elder descendants
of Tao-Kuang (of whom Prince P’u Lun and Prince Kung are the chief
representatives) that the present boy-Emperor, or his father, the Regent,
will hereafter elevate the founder of his branch, the first Prince
Ch’un, to the posthumous rank of Emperor, a species of canonisation
which Europeans might consider unimportant, but which, in the eyes of
the Chinese, would constitute a sort of posthumous usurpation on the
part of the junior branch of the Imperial clan, since the first Prince
Ch’un would thus be placed on a footing of equality with Nurhachu, the
founder of the Dynasty, and would practically become the founder of a
new line. The first Prince Ch’un had himself foreseen the possibility
of such an occurrence, and had realised that it could not fail to lead
to serious trouble, for which reason, as will be seen hereafter, he
had taken precautions to prevent it. It has not escaped the attention
of those whose business it is to watch the straws that float down the
stream of high Chinese policy that, since the accession of the present
child-Emperor to the Throne, the ancestral sacrifices made at the
mausoleum of the first Prince Ch’un have been greatly elaborated in pomp
and circumstance, while in official documents his name has been given
“double elevation,” that is to say, in the eyes of the _literati_ he is
made to rank on the same level as a reigning Emperor. It is commonly
believed by those Chinese who are in a position to speak with authority
on the subject, that when the Emperor attains his majority, he will be
led to confer further posthumous honours upon his grandfather, including
that of “triple elevation,” which would place him on a footing of
equality with a deceased Emperor, and entitle him to worship at a special
shrine in the Temple of the Ancestors of the Dynasty. From a Chinese
constitutional point of view, the consequences of such a step would be
extremely serious and difficult of adjustment.
The Old Buddha was a strong partisan, and during her lifetime her
immediate kinsmen were practically above the law, basking in the
sunshine of her protection or making hay thereby, so that there was
always a strong undercurrent of friction between them and the Yellow and
Red Girdles, friction of which echoes frequently reached the tea-houses
and market places of the capital. Tzŭ Hsi delighted to snub the Aisin
Gioros; in one Decree she forbade them to reside in the business quarter
of the city, on the ground that she had heard it said that some of them
were making money by disreputable trades. She was by no means beloved of
the Iron-capped princes and other noble descendants of Nurhachu, who,
while they feared her, never ceased to complain that she curtailed their
time-honoured privileges.
An interesting example of her masterful methods of dealing with these
hereditary aristocrats occurred when one of the Imperial Dukes ventured
to build himself a pretentious house in the immediate vicinity of the
Imperial City, and overlooking a considerable portion of the palace
enclosure. No sooner was the building completed than the Old Buddha
confiscated it, reprimanding the owner for his lack of decorum in daring
to overlook the Palace grounds, and forthwith she bestowed it upon her
younger brother, the Duke Chao.
Another example of her clannishness, and of the difficulties which it
created for the local authorities, occurred upon the establishment of
the new Police Board at Peking, three years after the return of the
Court from exile in 1902. The Grand Councillor, Hsü Shih-ch’ang, a
Chinese by birth, and a favourite of Her Majesty, was placed at the head
of this new Board, but he soon realised that the lot of his policemen,
when dealing with the members of the ruling clan, was by no means a
happy one. Her Majesty’s third brother, the Duke Kuei Hsiang, was a
particularly hardened offender, absolutely declining to recognise police
regulations of any kind, and inciting his retainers to “gain face” by
driving on the wrong side of the road and by committing other breaches
of the regulations. On one occasion a zealous policeman went so far as
to arrest one of the Duke’s servants. Hsü Shih-ch’ang, hearing of the
occurrence, promptly ordered the man’s release, but the Duke, grievously
insulted, insisted upon an abject apology from the head of the Board
in person. Thrice did the unfortunate Hsü call at the Duke’s palace
without gaining admission, and it was only after he had performed a
kowtow before the Duke in the open courtyard outside the palace that his
apology was accepted. An idea of the importance of this incident in the
eyes of the Pekinese, and of the power of the clansmen, may be inferred
from the fact that Hsü subsequently became Viceroy of the Manchurian
provinces, later President of the Ministry of Posts and Communications,
and in August, 1910, was elevated to the Grand Council. On this occasion,
however, the Old Buddha, learning of the incident, “excused” Hsü from
further attendance at the Grand Council, and shortly afterwards he was
transferred to Mukden.
Yehonala’s mother, the lady Niuhulu, survived her husband for many years,
residing in his house in “Pewter Lane” (Hsi-la-hu-t’ung), quite close
to the Legation quarter. When her daughter became Empress Mother, she
received the rank of Imperial Duchess. She appears to have been a lady
of great ability and good sense, distinguished even amongst the members
of a clan always noted for the intelligence of its women kind. After
living to a ripe old age, she was buried beside her husband in the family
graveyard which lies without the city to the west, in the vicinity of the
Europeans’ race-course, where her daughter’s filial piety was displayed
by the erection of an honorific arch and the customary marble tablets.
When, in January 1902, the Empress Dowager returned from exile by railway
from Cheng-ting fu, she gained great kudos from the orthodox by declining
to enter the capital by the Hankow railway line, because that line ran
close to her parents’ graves, and it would have been a serious breach of
respect to their memory to pass the spot without reverently alighting to
make obeisance. She therefore changed her route, entering Peking from
the south, to the great admiration of all her people.
Of Yehonala’s childhood there is little to record except that among her
youthful playmates was a kinsman, Jung Lu, who in after years was to play
so prominent a part in many a crisis of her career. By common report she
had been betrothed to him from birth. This report is not verifiable, but
there is no doubt that the great influence which Jung Lu exercised over
her, far greater than that of any of her family or highest officials, was
founded in their early youth. K’ang Yu-wei and other Chinese officials
opposed to the Manchu rule have not hesitated to assert that he was on
terms of improper intimacy with her for years, dating from the flight to
Jehol, and before the decease of her husband the Emperor.
Yehonala’s education followed the usual classical course, but the
exceptional alertness and activity of her mind, combined with her
inordinate ambition and love of power, enabled her to rise superior to
its usually petrifying influences and to turn her studies to practical
account in the world of living men. She learned to paint skilfully and
to take real pleasure in the art; she was an adept at the composition of
verses, as classically wooden in form as anything produced by the most
distinguished of English public schools. At the age of sixteen she had
mastered the Five Classics in Chinese and Manchu, and had studied to good
purpose the historical records of the twenty-four Dynasties. She had
beyond doubt that love of knowledge which is the beginning of wisdom,
and the secret of power, and she had, moreover, the chroniclers aver, a
definite presentiment of the greatness of her destiny.
Upon the death of the Emperor Tao-Kuang in 1850, his eldest surviving
son, aged nineteen, ascended the Throne under the reign-title of
Hsien-Feng. After the expiry of the period of mourning (twenty-seven
months) during which the new Emperor may not marry, a Decree was issued
commanding that all beautiful Manchu maidens of eligible age should
present themselves at the Imperial Household Office which would make
from them a selection for the Emperor’s harem. Prior to his accession,
Hsien-Feng had married the eldest daughter of Muyanga, but she had died
before his coming to the Throne. Among the maidens who obeyed the nuptial
Edict were Muyanga’s second daughter, Sakota, and the young Yehonala.
On the 14th of June, 1852, about sixty of the beauty and fashion of
the Manchu aristocracy appeared before the critical eye of the widow
of Tao-Kuang, who selected twenty-eight from among them, and these she
divided into the four classes of Imperial concubines, viz., “Fei,”
“P’in,” “Kuei Jen,” and “Ch’ang Tsai.” Sakota thus became a “P’in,” and
Yehonala a “Kuei Jen” or “honourable person.” With rare exceptions, these
Imperial concubines are much more the servants of their mother-in-law
than the wives of their sovereign. In theory, their number is limited to
seventy, but this number is seldom maintained; beside them, there are
within the Palace precincts some two thousand female Manchus, employed
as handmaidens and general servants under the direction of the eunuchs.
In all domestic matters of the household, the widow of the Emperor last
deceased exercises supreme authority, and although precedent allows
the Emperor to inspect the ladies selected, he has no voice in their
disposition or the determination of their rank.
Thus Yehonala left her home in Pewter Lane to become an inmate of the
Forbidden City, cut off henceforth from all direct intercourse with
her own people. An aged tiring woman who served her from the time of
her first entry into the Palace until her death, is our authority for
the following interesting description of the only visit which she ever
paid to her family. It was in January 1857, nine months after the birth
of her son, the heir to the Throne, that, by special permission of the
Emperor, she was allowed to leave the Palace. Early in the morning,
eunuchs were sent to announce to her mother that her daughter, the
Concubine Yi, was coming to visit her at mid-day. There was much joyful
excitement amongst the family and its friends at this rare honour. All
the neighbours in Pewter Lane turned out to see the eunuchs and the
yellow-draped chair. The mother and all the members of the household
(including some of an elder generation) ranged themselves on either side
of the entrance courtyard as the chair was borne within. At the head
of the steps leading to the inner courtyard the eunuchs in attendance
requested her to descend; she then entered the main room, where she took
the seat of honour. Her family approached respectfully to salute her, all
kneeling except her mother and the elder relatives. A banquet was then
served at which, by special arrangement, the mother took a seat lower
than that of the daughter, thus recognising her position as mother of the
Heir Apparent. All present were most favourably impressed by Yehonala’s
unaffected and affectionate disposition; she seemed quite unspoiled by
the formalities and splendours of Court life, talking with all the old
vivacity as a daughter of the house, showing the keenest interest in the
family’s affairs, and particularly in the education of her sisters.
The banquet lasted till late in the afternoon, Yehonala asking and
answering innumerable questions. As the short January day drew to its
close, the eunuchs requested her to prepare to return to the Palace. She
therefore took an affectionate farewell of her family, expressing sincere
regret that her life must be cut off from theirs, but hoping that some
day the Emperor might again permit her to visit them. Her mother, she
said, would, in any case, be allowed to come and see her in the Palace.
After distributing presents to all the members of her family, she entered
her palanquin and was borne away. She never saw her home again, but in
later years her mother used frequently to visit her in the Forbidden City.
Upon entering the Palace, Yehonala proceeded to establish herself
firmly and speedily in the good graces of Tao-Kuang’s widow; through
her influence at first, and later by virtue of her own charm, she soon
became first favourite with her weak and dissolute lord; and when, in
April 1856, she crowned his long disappointed ambitions by presenting
him with an heir to the Throne, her position was completely assured. At
the time of her entering the Palace, the Taiping rebellion was causing
great uneasiness at the capital. In March 1853, the rebels took Nanking,
the southern capital. Yehonala, who had already made it her business to
read, and advise on, all Memorials from the provinces, used her growing
influence with the Son of Heaven to secure the appointment of Tseng
Kuo-fan as Commander-in-Chief, and to provide him with funds for the
raising of train-bands in Hunan, with which, and with the help of General
Gordon, Tseng eventually suppressed the rebellion. Thus early she showed
her superiority to environment and the fetters of tradition, displaying
at a moment of national danger that breadth of mind and quick decision
which distinguished her. By all official precedent, Tseng Kuo-fan was not
available for service, being in mourning for his mother, but it was ever
Yehonala’s opinion that precedents were meant to be subordinate to the
State and not the State to precedents, wherein lies the mark of the born
ruler.
In August 1855 the widow of Tao-Kuang died and Yehonala, in recognition
“of her dutiful ministrations,” was raised to the rank of “P’in,” her
colleague Sakota having in the meanwhile become Empress Consort.
It was the common belief of Chinese writers at this time that the reign
of Hsien-Feng would witness the end of the Dynasty, which was held to
have “exhausted the mandate of Heaven.” All over the Empire rebellion
was rife; the sovereign himself was a weak debauchee, incapable of
inspiring either loyalty or affection in his people. In the eyes of the
_literati_ he was a degenerate, having none of the scholarly tastes which
had made his five predecessors famous in history, nor any disposition
to follow their example in the compiling of monumental editions of the
classics and dictionaries, which have endeared their memory to scholars.
It was, moreover, considered ominous that no heir had yet been born to
him, though he was now twenty-five, several of his predecessors having
provided for the succession before they were fifteen. When, therefore, in
April 1856, Yehonala gave birth to a son, and at the same time the rebels
were driven from the provinces of Hunan and Kiangsi, it was felt that the
tide of evil had turned and that Heaven’s favour once more smiled upon
the Throne.
At this period, the health of the Emperor, stricken with paralysis, had
completely broken down and Yehonala, by virtue of her position as mother
of the Heir Apparent, and even more by reason of her masterful character,
became the real ruler of the Empire. Her colleague, the Empress Consort,
took little or no active interest in the business of government. In
actual rank, Yehonala had risen to the position of a concubine of the
first grade “Fei” and was generally known in the metropolis as the “Kuei
Fei, Yi,” the last word being her honorific title, meaning “feminine
virtue.”
Her advice on foreign affairs at this period was generally of an
aggressive character, and the fact is not matter for wonder when we
bear in mind her youth, her pride of race and her complete ignorance of
foreign countries and their resources. On the return of the special Envoy
Ch’i Ying, who had been sent to endeavour to induce Lord Elgin to leave
Taku and whose mission had ignominiously failed, it was to the haughty
Yehonala that common report credited the Decree which ordered him to be
presented with the “silken cord” of self-despatch, as a mark of “the
Throne’s benevolent leniency.” To her also was ascribed the Emperor’s
refusal to permit the High Commissioner Yeh at Canton to negotiate with
the British on trade questions, a decision which led directly to the
capture of that city by the foreign barbarian in the following year. In
the records left by chroniclers and diarists of that time it is generally
noticeable that the Emperor’s opinions and doings are ignored and that
all the business of the Imperial City and the Empire had come to depend
on the word of Yehonala, a fact in itself sufficiently remarkable in a
country where no woman is supposed to rule, and particularly remarkable
when we bear in mind that she was at this time only a concubine and
twenty-two years of age.
To prevent confusion arising from the several names and titles of the
Empress Dowager, it should be explained that her family or clan name of
Yehonala was that by which she was known to the world of Peking before
and at the time of her selection for the Imperial harem. In the Palace,
until her accession to the rank of Empress Mother (Empress of the West),
she was still Yehonala, but more usually described as the “Yi” concubine.
As co-Regent and Empress Mother, her official designation, Imperially
decreed, was Tzŭ Hsi, to which many other honorifics were added. To
the mass of the people she was either the Empress Dowager (_Huang T’ai
Hou_) or the Old Buddha, and towards the end of her reign this last
affectionately respectful title was universally used in the North.
[Illustration: THE IMPERIAL DAÏS IN THE CHIAO-TAL HALL.
_Photo, Ogawa, Tokio._]
II
THE FLIGHT TO JEHOL
The causes and history of the invasion of North China by the allied
forces of England and France are too well known to need re-stating here,
but the part played by Yehonala in the stirring days which preceded
and followed the flight to Jehol are not familiar to European readers.
Most interesting details are given on this subject by a certain Doctor
of Letters and member of the Hanlin Academy, whose diary was printed
privately in narrative form several years later, and from this document
the following extracts are taken. It was originally entitled “A Record
of Grief Incurable” and, as will be noted, it is primarily a monument of
filial piety, into which the doings of the barbarians, and the already
dominant personality of Yehonala, are artlessly interwoven, with a
certain quality of sincerity that attracts. The narrative itself is full
of human interest.
“In the 7th Moon of the ‘Keng Shen’ year (August 1860), five or
six days after my mother fell sick, rumours began to circulate
that the barbarians had already reached Taku. It was generally
known that many Memorials had reached the Throne from the
metropolitan and provincial officials, but as no mention of
them had appeared in the Gazette, it was only natural that
there should be a very widespread feeling of uneasiness and
many alarming rumours. So far, however, there had been no
fleeing from the city. His Majesty was seriously ill, and
it was known that he wished to leave for the north, but the
Imperial Concubine Yi and Prince Seng dissuaded him from this
and assured him that the barbarians would never enter the city.
“At this time my mother was suffering from dysentery, but
she ordered the servants to keep it from me. It was only one
day, when I noticed a prescription lying on her table, that I
realised that she was indeed seriously ill. Doctor Liu was in
attendance, as usual, but I never had any confidence in him or
his methods, which seemed to me far too drastic. Nevertheless
he had advised and attended her for seven years, and my mother
and all her household placed implicit confidence in him.
Alas, the Ancients have rightly said that a good son should
know something of the principles of medicine, and surely my
ignorance has been the first cause of my mother’s death. Though
I should give up my life a hundred times, how can I ever atone
for this?
“During the next few days, people began to leave Peking, for
the report was spread that our troops had been defeated at
Taku, and that a Brigadier General was among the slain; the
garrison had fled from Pei T’ang and the forts were in the
hands of the barbarians. Prince Seng had been ordered by
Edict not to fight a pitched battle, so that our forces were
idly confronting the enemy. Nothing definite was known as to
the real cause of our defeat, and the people, being kept in
ignorance, gradually got over their first alarm.
“On the 13th of the 7th Moon, I noticed a change for the worse
in my mother’s condition, and straightway applied for ten days’
leave of absence from my official duties. I kept her ignorant
of the political situation and urged her to abstain from worry
of every kind. But every-day the news was worse, and people
began to leave the city in thousands.
“On the following day, Magistrate Li Min-chai looked in to say
good-bye, as he was leaving to join the troops in Anhui. He
expressed strong disapproval of Dr. Liu’s prescription and gave
me one of his own. My mother was averse to taking his medicine,
but I persuaded her to do so. In the night she was suddenly
seized with shortness of breath, and hastily I sent for Mr. Li,
who assured me that this was in no way due to his medicine.
My mother, however, insisted upon returning to Dr. Liu’s
prescription, so all I could do was to urge him to compound
it of drugs less strong and more suited to a patient of my
mother’s advanced years.
“My mother then bade me to prepare her coffin as she was
certain that her death was near. Fortunately I had bought
the wood eight years before at Mukden, and had stored it in
a coffin shop in Peking, whence I now had it fetched. We set
carpenters to work in our court-yard, and by the 20th, the
coffin was finished. The wood was beautifully thick, and the
whole appearance of the coffin most creditable. Never could
I have expected that at such a time of haste and general
disorder so perfect a piece of work could have been produced.
The carpenters assured me that at the present time such a
coffin would cost at least a thousand taels in Peking.[2] This
comforted me not a little.
“Next morning the lacquer shop people sent over to put on the
first coating of lacquer, in which at least two pounds were
used. We then sent for the tailor and six assistants to make
the grave clothes and purchased the materials for my mother’s
ceremonial ‘going away dress.’ I had a long sable robe made
up, but next day, as my mother appeared to be slightly better,
I decided to postpone having the long outer robes prepared.
Rumours were now rife that the barbarians had already reached
T’ungchou, and were going to bombard Peking on the 27th, so
that everyone was escaping who could leave the city. On the
27th, we put on the second coating of lacquer.
“On that day, our troops captured the barbarian leader
Pa Hsia-li (Parkes) together with eight others, who were
imprisoned in the Board of Punishments. Thereupon the whole
city was in an uproar, and it became known that His Majesty was
preparing to leave on a tour northwards. But the Concubine Yi
persuaded some of the older officials to memorialise, urging
him to remain, none of which Memorials have been published.
All the Manchu and Chinese officials were now sending their
families away and their valuables, but the large shops outside
the main gate were doing business as usual. My mother’s
condition remained much the same, and I applied for another ten
days’ leave.
“On the 1st of the 8th Moon, we applied another coating of
lacquer to the coffin. On the same day Dr. Liu changed my
mother’s medicine, but, the dysentery continued unabated.
“On the 4th my mother called me to her bedside and said: ‘I
cannot possibly recover. See that all is prepared for the
burial. I shall take no food to-day.’ I felt as if a knife had
been thrust into my vitals, and sent straightway for the tailor
to hurry on with the ceremonial robes. My friend, P’an Yu-shih,
called and recommended a purgative, but my mother was very
angry, and refused point-blank to take it. In the night she had
a violent attack of vomiting, which seemed to relieve her—so
much so, that I told the tailor not to be in too great a hurry.
Next morning the robes were finished, but my mother thought
the coverlet too heavy, and I substituted therefor a lighter
material, silk. To this she objected as being too luxurious and
more expensive than she had any right to expect; she observed
that her parents-in-law had not had grave-wrappings of such
valuable stuff. Meanwhile the confusion in Peking was hourly
increasing, and huge crowds were hurrying from the city. Most
of the city gates were closed for fear of the barbarians, but
the ‘Chang-yi’ gate in the southern city was still open.
“On the 7th, our troops engaged the barbarians outside the Ch’i
Hua gate. The van was composed of untrained Mongol cavalry,
who had never been in action. No sooner had the barbarians
opened fire than they turned as one man, broke their ranks and
stampeded upon the infantry in their rear. Many were trampled
to death, and a general rout followed, our men fleeing in every
direction and the barbarians pressing on to the city walls.
“Certain Princes and Ministers besought the Concubine Yi to
induce the Emperor to leave on a tour. His Majesty was only too
anxious to start at once, but the Concubine Yi persuaded two
of the Grand Secretaries to memorialise against his doing so,
and in response to this a Decree was issued stating that under
no circumstances would the Emperor leave his capital. Another
Decree was put out by the Concubine Yi offering large rewards
to any who should slay the barbarians. It was generally
thought that the Emperor would now forgo his intended departure.
“Early next morning we heard the news of another engagement
outside the Ch’i Hua gate, upon which news His Sacred Majesty,
attended by all his concubines, the Princes, Ministers and
Dukes, and all the officers of the Household, left the city
in a desperate rout and disorder unspeakable, affording a
spectacle that gave the impression that hordes of barbarians
were already in close pursuit. As a matter of fact, the
foreigners were still at a considerable distance, and at
the Summer Palace, where the Court lay, there was nothing
whatsoever to cause the slightest apprehension. I cannot
understand why His Majesty was allowed to leave; up to the
very last the Yi Concubine begged him to remain in his Palace,
as his presence there could not fail to awe the barbarians,
and thus to exercise a protecting influence for the good of
the city and people. How, said she, 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? She begged him to bear in mind that episode in the Chou
Dynasty, when the Son of Heaven fled his capital, ‘his head
covered with dust,’ and was forced to take refuge with one of
his feudatory Princes. The Chinese people have always regarded
this as a humiliating event in the history of their country,
but the present flight of the Court appears more humiliating
still.
“Meantime my mother’s condition was becoming critical, and I
had scant leisure for considering the political situation.
Every official of any standing had either left the capital
by this time or was leaving, and all the merchants who could
afford it were sending their families away. The cost of
transport was prohibitive for many; the price of a cart with
one mule to go to Cho-chou was twenty taels, and to Pao-ting fu
(60 miles) they charged thirty taels. In my case there could be
no question of removing my mother, and there was nothing for it
therefore but to sit still and face the situation.
“As the dysentery grew more acute every day, with Dr. Liu’s
permission I tried Dr. Yang’s prescription. It was, however,
too late, and nothing could help her now. On the morning
of the 12th she was _in extremis_, and had lost the power
of swallowing; so we sent for Li, the tailor, to put a few
finishing touches on the burial robes, and to prepare the
‘cockcrow pillow’ and coverlets. At 11 P.M. she passed away,
abandoning her most undutiful son. Alas, there is no doubt that
her death lies at my door, because of my ignorance of medicine.
Smiting my body against the ground, I invoke Heaven, but ten
thousand separate deaths could not atone for my sins.
“We arrayed her, then, in her robes. First her handmaiden put
on the inner garments, a chemise of white silk, then a jacket
of grey silk, and outside that a wadded robe of blue satin.
Then were put on the robe and mantle of State, with the badge
of her official rank, the jade girdle and necklace of amber.
After the gold hair ornaments had been placed in position, the
Phœnix hat was set upon her head; red mattresses were laid upon
the couch, and we placed her in a comfortable position, with
her head reclining on the ‘cockcrow’ pillow of red satin. Not
a friend came near us, and every door in the neighbourhood was
closed. Next morning I lined the coffin with red satin, and
then padded it with straw to prevent it shaking, and at 3 P.M.
I invited my mother to ascend into her ‘long home.’
“The city was in a terrible tumult, and a friend came in to
advise me to bury my mother temporarily in a temple outside
the city. It would not be safe, he said, to inter her in the
courtyard of this house, for the barbarian is suspicious by
nature, and will assuredly search every house in Peking as soon
as the city is taken. It was impossible for me to consider
calmly what might happen if they were to find and to desecrate
my mother’s coffin. I remembered what has been told of their
doings in Canton under similar circumstances.
“On the 14th, the ‘Chang-yi’ gate was opened, and I found
a temple, suitably situated, which the priest was willing
to allow me to rent. I prepared therefore to watch over my
mother’s remains, sending my family in the meanwhile to live
with an old pupil of mine at Pa-chou. Only the two western
gates of the Chinese city were still open, and as the Hata Men
and the Ch’ien Men had been closed for four days, the stream of
traffic through the Shun-chih Men caused perpetual blocks in
that gateway. All the small pedlars, hawkers and barbers were
fleeing the city, but still the large business houses remained
open.
“On the 19th I conveyed my mother’s remains to the temple;
I found all quiet there, but my progress through the city
gate was very slow because of the crowd. On the 23rd there
were but few people abroad, and these clustering together in
small groups and speaking in low voices. Suddenly, a little
after mid-day, an immense blaze was seen to the north-west,
and speedily it was reported that the barbarians had seized
Hai-tien and the Summer Palace. Our army is said to number
half a million men, and yet it seems that not one of them dare
oppose the barbarians’ advance. They have about a thousand of
cavalry, yet they move about at will in our midst as if in an
uninhabited wilderness! ’Tis passing strange! The troops of
Prince Seng and General Sheng have retreated to the Te-sheng
gate.
“On the 24th all the shops were closed, and the higher the
price of vehicles, the greater the number of people to wish to
engage them. The poorer class were using wheelbarrows, on which
they packed their most valuable moveables for flight.
“Prince Kung sent an Envoy to the barbarians’ camp with a
despatch asking for an armistice. On arriving in the vicinity
of the camp, however, the messenger saw the barbarians pointing
rifles at him, so that he turned and fled.
“On the afternoon of the 24th, vast columns of smoke were seen
rising to the north-west, and it was ascertained that the
barbarians had entered the Summer Palace, and after plundering
the three main halls, leaving them absolutely bare, they had
set fire to the buildings. Their excuse for this abominable
behaviour is that their troops got out of hand, and had
committed the incendiarism. After this they issued notices,
placarded everywhere, in very bad Chinese, stating that unless
terms of peace had been arranged before mid-day on the 29th,
they would then bombard Peking, in which case all inhabitants
who did not wish to share the fate of the city had better
remove themselves to a safe distance.
“On this day it was reported that The Sacred Chariot had
reached Jehol in safety, but His Majesty had been greatly
alarmed, and had issued a Decree expressing regret for his
failure to commit suicide on the approach of the invaders. The
Emperor is reported to be ill, and it is said that the Princes
Tsai Yüan and Tuan Hua are trying to get themselves appointed
to the Grand Council. Should the Emperor die (_lit._ ‘when
ten thousand years have passed’) the Yi concubine will be
made Empress Dowager, but at present she is reported to be at
variance with the Princes, who are endeavouring to prejudice
the Emperor against her.
“I learnt that all was quiet at the temple where my mother’s
coffin rests. Troops were passing there daily, but, so far,
none had occupied it. On the 29th, my servant-boy, Yung ’Erh,
came to tell me that troops from Tientsin in the pay of the
barbarians had occupied the temple, but on proceeding thither I
found them to be General Sheng’s men. Prince Seng’s troops were
also near at hand, so that, if a bombardment had taken place,
what could have prevented the destruction of the temple, and
what would then have become of my mother’s remains? I therefore
decided to engage wheelbarrows and handcarts, at six taels
apiece, to take my family to Pao-ting fu, and I arranged with
the undertakers to hire bearers for the coffin.
“At 11 A.M. of the same day the barbarians entered the
city by the Anting gate, occupying its tower and the wall
adjoining. One large cannon and four small ones were placed
in position on the wall, and a five-coloured flag hoisted
there. With the exception of the officials entrusted with the
duty of negotiating, not one remained in the city. Two days
ago the prisoner Parkes, and his companions, were sent back
to the enemy with every mark of courtesy. Scarcely had they
reached their camp when a special Decree, post-haste from
Jehol, ordered Prince Kung to decapitate them all forthwith
as a warning to the bandits who had dared to invade the
sacred precincts of the Palace. As the Yi concubine had urged
their execution from the very first, it would seem as if her
influence were again in the ascendant.
“On the 1st of the 9th Moon, the ‘Chang-yi’ gate was closed,
but I managed to leave the city by the Hsi-pien Men, where I
was nearly crushed to death in the enormous crowd. Upon my
arrival at the temple, I had a nice wadded cover made to put
over the coffin, and then hurried back to the city to arrange
for the cortège leaving next morning. The President of the
Board of Finance, Liang Hai-lou, was hiding in the temple
precincts with his family and chief concubine, all wearing
common clothes and unshaven. This is a good example of the
condition to which the very highest had been reduced.
“Next morning, on reaching the temple, I found the
coffin-bearers and transport coolies on the spot. But,
unfortunately, in my hurry, I failed to notice that the
undertakers had supplied the frame, on which the coffin is
carried, of a size smaller than had been agreed upon, so that
instead of sixteen bearers there were but eight. We started,
however, and the procession’s appearance of panic-stricken
fugitives was most distressing to contemplate. But what could
I do? The first and only object in my mind was to protect
my mother’s coffin. I have omitted to state that my small
servant-boy, Yung ’Erh, had started to accompany the coffin
on foot. But, after they had started, it occurred to me that
the lad could never stand so long a journey, and that should
my mother be aware of it, she would be extremely anxious about
him. Therefore, I quickly engaged another wheelbarrow for Yung
’Erh, and bade the coolies hurry after the procession.
“On returning home I felt uneasy about the jolting which my
mother’s coffin must have experienced on the undersized frame.
I went, therefore, to the undertakers and expostulated with
them for having cheated me. After much altercation they agreed
to change the frame, but I was to pay two taels more for
the larger size. I subsequently learned that they failed to
keep their promise, but there was no good to be got by suing
them for breach of faith. They are sordid tricksters. Yung
’Erh wrote, however, to assure me that the party had reached
Pao-ting fu in safety, and that the coffin had not been jolted
in the least. On removing the wrappings the lacquer was found
to be undamaged.
“The barbarians were now in full possession of the city, and
rumours were rife on all sides. Everyone in Peking—there
were still a good many people—was terrified, and the Manchus
were sending their families from the Tartar to the southern
(Chinese) city to save their women from being outraged by the
barbarian bandits. The condition of the people was indeed
deplorable in the extreme. One of the Censors had sent a
Memorial to Jehol, reproaching the Emperor for the pass to
which he had brought his people, and for the neglect of
ancestral worship caused by his absence. He blamed His Majesty
for listening to evil advisers, and besought him to return to
his capital.
“The minds of the people were becoming more than ever
disturbed, because it was now reported that the negotiations
for peace had so far failed, either because Prince Kung would
not entertain the barbarians’ conditions, or because the latter
were too utterly preposterous.
“On the 6th, a despatch arrived from the British barbarians,
accusing China of having violated all civilised usage in
torturing to death their fellow-countrymen. For this they
demanded an indemnity of 500,000 taels. At the same time came
a despatch from the Russian barbarians, saying that they had
heard that England was demanding this indemnity, but they (the
Russians) were prepared to use their influence and good offices
to persuade the British to abate their claims. Prince Kung was
of opinion that, even if they should be successful in this
proposed mediation, China would only save some 100,000 taels,
and for this she would place herself under heavy obligations
to Russia. So he replied, declining the offer on the ground
that the British claim had already been accepted by China, and
that further discussion of the matter was therefore impossible.
Thereupon the Russians wrote again, saying that if China had
definitely accepted the British terms there was, of course,
nothing more to be said, but they asked Prince Kung to note
that they had induced England to forgo half of the indemnity of
two million taels originally asked, as a set-off to China for
the destruction of the Summer Palace. On the 9th, Prince Kung
forwarded the 500,000 taels to the British barbarians.
“The whole sixteen articles of the barbarians’ demands have
finally been accepted without modification. The only thing
that our negotiators asked was the immediate withdrawal of the
invading army, and to obtain this they were prepared to yield
everything. Therefore, the barbarians openly flout China for
her lack of men. Woe is me; a pitiful tale, and one hard to
tell! When the Yi concubine heard of Prince Kung’s complete
surrender to the barbarians she reproached the Emperor for
allowing his brother to negotiate, and she implored him to
re-open hostilities. But His Majesty was dangerously ill, and
refused to leave Jehol, so that our revenge must be postponed
for the time being.”
[Illustration: H.I.H. P’U JU, COUSIN OF THE PRESENT EMPEROR, SON OF THE
BOXER PRINCE TSAI-YING, AND GRANDSON OF PRINCE KUNG.]
Bearing in mind the frequent allusions made by the Hanlin diarist to the
Emperor’s indecision of purpose at the time of the advance of the British
and French armies on Peking, it is reasonable to assume that Yehonala
prompted, if she did not write, the following vigorous Edict, which
appeared on the 3rd day of the 8th Moon in the 10th year of Hsien-Feng
(6th September 1860):—
“Swaying the wide world, we are nevertheless animated by one
and the same instinct of benevolence to all. We have never
forbidden England and France to trade with China, and for long
years there has been peace between them and us. But three years
ago the English, for no good cause, invaded our city of Canton,
and carried off our officials into captivity. We refrained at
that time from taking any retaliatory measures, because we
were compelled to recognise that the obstinacy of the Viceroy
Yeh had been in some measure a cause of the hostilities. Two
years ago the barbarian Commander Elgin came north, and we then
commanded the Viceroy of Chihli, T’an Ting-hsiang, to look into
matters preparatory to negotiations. But the barbarian took
advantage of our unreadiness, attacking the Taku forts and
pressing on to Tientsin. Being anxious to spare our people the
horrors of war, we again refrained from retaliation and ordered
Kuei Liang to discuss terms of peace. Notwithstanding the
outrageous nature of the barbarians’ demands, we subsequently
ordered Kuei Liang to proceed to Shanghai in connection with
the proposed Treaty of Commerce, and even permitted its
ratification as earnest of our good faith.
“In spite of all this the barbarian leader Bruce again
displayed intractability of the most unreasonable kind and
once more appeared off Taku with a squadron of warships in the
8th Moon. Seng Ko Lin Ch’in thereupon attacked him fiercely and
compelled him to make a hasty retreat. From all these facts it
is clear that China has committed no breach of faith and that
the barbarians have been in the wrong. During the present year
the barbarian leaders Elgin and Gros have again appeared off
our coasts, but China, unwilling to resort to extreme measures,
agreed to their landing and permitted them to come to Peking
for the ratification of the Treaty.
“Who could have believed that all this time these barbarians
have been darkly plotting and that they had brought with them
an army of soldiers and artillery, with which they attacked the
Taku forts from the rear, and, having driven out our forces,
advanced upon Tientsin! Once more we ordered Kuei Liang to go
to Tientsin and endeavour to reason with them, in the hope that
they might not be lost to all sense of propriety, and with the
full intention that their demands, if not utterly unreasonable,
should be conceded. To our utter astonishment, Elgin and his
colleague had the audacity to demand an indemnity from China;
they asked, too, that more Treaty ports should be opened, and
that they should be allowed to occupy our capital with their
army. To such lengths did their brutality and cunning lead
them! But we then commanded Prince Yi and Mu Yin, the President
of the Board of War, to endeavour to induce in them a more
reasonable spirit and to come to some satisfactory arrangement.
But these treacherous barbarians dared to advance their savage
soldiery towards Tungchow and to announce their intention of
compelling us to receive them in audience.
“Any further forbearance on our part would be a dereliction
of our duty to the Empire, so that we have now commanded our
armies to attack them with all possible energy and we have
directed the local gentry to organise train-bands, and with
them either to join in the attack or to block the barbarians’
advance. Hereby we make offer of the following rewards:—For
the head of a black barbarian, 50 taels, and for the head of
a white barbarian, 100 taels. For the capture of a barbarian
leader, alive or dead, 500 taels, and for the seizure or
destruction of a barbarian vessel, 5,000 taels. The inhabitants
of Tientsin are reputed brave. Let them now come forward and
rid us of these pestilential savages, either by open attack or
by artifice. We are no lovers of war, but all our people must
admit that this has been forced upon us.
“As to the barbarians’ seizure of portions of our territory in
Kuangtung and Fukhien, all our subjects are alike our children
and we will issue large rewards to any of them in the south who
shall present us with the head of a barbarian chief.
“These barbarians live in the remote parts of the earth, whence
they come to China for purposes of trade. Their outrageous
proceedings have, we understand, been encouraged by abominable
traitors among our own subjects. We now command that all the
Treaty ports be closed and all trade with England and France
stopped. Subjects of other submissive States are not to be
molested, and whensoever the British and French repent them of
their evil ways and return to their allegiance, we shall be
pleased to permit them to trade again, as of old, so that our
clemency may be made manifest. But should they persist in their
wicked violation of every right principle, our armies must
mightily smite them, and pledge themselves solemnly to destroy
utterly these evil-doers. May they repent while yet there is
time!”
Three days later Yehonala was present at the morning audience, when the
Emperor made the following statement:—
“We learn that the barbarians continue to press upon our
capital. Their demands were all complied with, yet they insist
upon presenting to us in person their barbarous documents
of credentials, and demand that Prince Seng shall withdraw
his troops from Chang-Chia wan. Such insolence as this makes
further parley impossible. Prince Seng has gained one great
victory already, and now his forces are holding the enemy in
check at Palich’iao.”
Orders were issued that the landing of troops from the warships which
had appeared off Kinchou should be stoutly resisted.
On the 7th of the Moon His Majesty sacrificed at the Temple of Confucius,
but on the next morning he was afraid to come into the city from the
Summer Palace, although he wished to sacrifice to the tutelary deities
and inform them of his intended departure. Early on the following day
Prince Kung was appointed Plenipotentiary in the place of Prince Yi (Tsai
Yüan) and the Emperor, despite the brave wording of his Decree, fled from
the capital, after making obeisance to the God of War in a small temple
of the Palace grounds. In the Decree announcing his departure, the flight
was described as an “autumn tour of inspection.”[3]
The Court started in utter confusion, but proceeded only some eighteen
miles on the road northwards from Peking, stopping for the first night in
a small temple. Here a Decree was issued calling upon all the Manchurian
troops to hasten to Jehol for the protection of the Court. On the evening
of the following day a Memorial was received from Prince Kung, reporting
on the latest doings of the barbarians, but His Majesty ordered him,
in reply, to take whatever steps he might think fit to deal with the
situation. It was out of the question, said the Rescript, for the Emperor
to decide on any course of action at a distance: in other words, the
Throne divested itself of further responsibility.
On the 11th, the Court lay at the Imperial hunting lodge north of Mi-Yun
hsien. The Chinese chronicler records that the Emperor was too sick to
receive the Grand Council, and delegated his duties to Yehonala, who
thereupon issued the following Decree:—
“We are informed that the pestilent barbarians are pressing
upon our capital, and our Ministers have asked us to summon
reinforcements from the provinces. Now the highest form
of military art is to effect sudden surprises, carefully
pre-arranged. The barbarians’ superiority lies in their
firearms, but if we can only bring them to a hand-to-hand
engagement they will be unable to bring their artillery to
bear, and thus shall our victory be assured. The Mongol and
Manchu horsemen are quite useless for this kind of warfare,
but the men of Hupei and Ssŭ-ch’uan are as agile as monkeys
and adepts at the use of cover in secret approaches. Let them
but surprise these bandits once, and their rout is inevitable.
Therefore let Tseng Kuo-fan, the Viceroy of Hukuang, send up
at least three thousand of his best troops to Peking, and let
as many be despatched from Ssŭ-ch’uan. Prince Seng’s troops
have been defeated again and again, and the capital is in great
danger. At such a crisis as this, there must be no delay; it
is our earnest hope that a sufficient force will speedily be
collected, so that we may be rid of this poisonous fever-cloud.
For bravery and good service, there will be great rewards. A
most important Decree.”
At the Court’s halting place at Pa-Ko shih, close to the Great Wall,
a Memorial came in from Prince Seng Ko Lin Ch’in, stating that
small scouting parties of the barbarian troops had been seen in the
neighbourhood of Peking, but that as yet there had been no general
bombardment. A Rescript was issued as follows:—
“Inasmuch as it would appear that the pertinacity of these
barbarians will only increase with opposition, it seems
desirable to come to terms with them as soon as possible.
With reference to the French barbarian Gros’s petition to be
permitted to discuss matters with Prince Kung in person, at
Peking, we command the Prince to receive him. But should the
bandits attempt to approach the city in force, Prince Seng
should take them in the rear and cut off their retreat. If
by any chance, however, Peking should be already taken, let
the Mongol regiments be sent up to the Great Wall for the
protection of our person.”
After a leisurely journey, the Court reached Jehol on the 18th. On the
20th, the opinion of the advisers of the Emperor seemed to be in favour
of continuing the war at all costs. A Decree was issued, referring to the
fact that the foreign troops had dared to encamp near the Summer Palace,
and forbidding Prince Kung to spare the lives of any captured barbarians
upon any pretext whatsoever. To this Prince Kung replied stating that the
prisoners had already been released and that the Anting gate had been
surrendered to the foreigners. Prince Kung, in fact, was statesman enough
to realise that the only chance for China lay in submission; he therefore
ignored the Imperial Decrees. Before long the Emperor was persuaded to
allow negotiations to be resumed, and on the 15th of the 9th Moon he
confirmed the Treaty, which had been signed in Peking, in the following
Edict:—
“Prince Kung, duly appointed by us to be Plenipotentiary,
concluded, on the 11th and 12th days of this Moon, Treaties
of Peace with the British and the French. Hereafter amity is
to exist between our nations in perpetuity, and the various
conditions of the Treaty are to be strictly observed by all.”
III
THE TSAI YÜAN CONSPIRACY
It was originally intended that the Emperor Hsien-Feng should return
from Jehol to Peking in the spring of 1861, and a Decree was issued to
that effect. In January, however, his illness had become so serious that
travelling was out of the question, and this Decree was rescinded.
At Jehol, removed from the direct influence of his brothers, and
enfeebled by sickness, the Emperor had gradually fallen under the
domination of the Prince Yi (Tsai Yüan) with whom were associated, as
Grand Councillors, the Prince Tuan Hua and the Imperial Clansman Su
Shun. These three, recognising that the Emperor’s end was near and that
a Regency would be necessary, determined on securing the power for
themselves. Prince Yi was nominally the leader of this conspiracy, but
its instigator and leading spirit was Su Shun. Tuan Hua, whose family
title was Prince Cheng, was the head of one of the eight princely
Manchu families, descended in the direct line from Nurhachu’s brother.
Su Shun was foster-brother to this Prince. In his youth he was a
conspicuous figure in the capital, famous for his Mohawk tendencies, a
wild blade, addicted to hawking and riotous living. He had originally
been recommended to the notice of the Emperor by the two Princes and
soon won his way into the dissolute monarch’s confidence and goodwill.
From a junior post in the Board of Revenue, he rose rapidly, becoming
eventually an Assistant Grand Secretary, in which capacity he attained
an unenviable reputation for avarice and cruelty. He had made himself
hated and feared by persuading the Emperor to order the decapitation of
his chief, the Grand Secretary Po Chun,[4] on the pretext that he had
shown favouritism as Chief Examiner for the Metropolitan Degree,—the real
reason being that he had offended the two Princes by his uncompromising
honesty and blunt speech. It was at this period that he first came
into conflict with the young Yehonala, who, dreading the man’s growing
influence with the Emperor, endeavoured to counteract it, and at the same
time to save the life of the Grand Secretary; she failed in the attempt,
and Su Shun’s position became the stronger for her failure. All those who
opposed him were speedily banished or degraded. The Court was terrified,
especially when it was realised that Yehonala was out of favour, and Su
Shun took care to give them real and frequent cause for alarm. At his
instance, all the Secretaries of the Board of Revenue were cashiered on
a charge of making illicit profits by cornering the cash market. The
charge was possibly well-founded, since such proceedings are part of a
Metropolitan official’s recognised means of subsistence, but coming from
the notoriously corrupt Su Shun, it was purely vindictive, as was shown
by his subsequent action; for upon this charge he obtained the arrest of
over a hundred notables and rich merchants whom he kept in custody of
no gentle kind until they had ransomed themselves with enormous sums.
Thus was founded the great fortune which enabled him to conspire with
the Princes Yi and Cheng[5] for the supreme power, and which led him
eventually to his ruin. To this day, many of his millions lie in the
Palace vaults, to which they were carried after his impeachment and
death—millions carefully hoarded by Tzŭ Hsi and buried during the Court’s
flight and exile in 1900.
It was chiefly because of the advice of Su Shun that the Emperor fled his
capital at the approach of the Allies, in spite of the urgent appeals
of Yehonala and the Grand Council. By his advice also most of the high
officials and Metropolitan Ministers were prevented from accompanying the
Court, by which means the conspirators were able to exercise steadily
increasing influence over the Emperor, and to prevent other advice
reaching him. It was only the supreme courage and intelligent grasp of
the situation shown by Yehonala, that frustrated the conspiracy at its
most critical moment. Immediately after the death of the Emperor, and
while the plotters were still undecided as to their final plans, she sent
an urgent message secretly to Prince Kung which brought him with all
speed to Jehol, where, by the help of Jung Lu and other loyal servants,
she put into execution the bold plan which defeated the conspiracy and
placed her at the head of China’s government. On the day when, the game
hopelessly lost, the usurping Regents found themselves in Yehonala’s
hands and heard her order their summary trial by the Court of the
Imperial Clan, Su Shun turned to his colleagues and bitterly reproached
them. “Had you but taken my advice and slain this woman,” he said, “we
should not have been in this plight to-day.”
To return, however, to the beginning of the conspiracy. At the outset,
the object of Prince Yi was to alienate the Emperor from the influence of
his favourite concubine, Yehonala. With this object they informed him of
the intrigue which, by common report, she was carrying on with the young
Officer of the Guards, Jung Lu, then a handsome athletic man of about
twenty-five. The Empress Consort they regarded as a negligible factor,
whose good-natured and colourless personality took little interest in
the politics of the day; but if their plot was to succeed, Yehonala
must either be dismissed from the Court for good and all, or, at the
very least, she must be temporarily relegated to the “Cold Palace,”
as is called the place where insubordinate or disgraced concubines
are isolated. They knew that, however successful their plans at Jehol,
there must always be danger in the event of the Emperor returning to
Peking, where access to his person is not possible at all times for
officials (even those nearest to the Throne), whereas Yehonala would be
in a position, with the help of her eunuchs, to recover his favour and
her power. Emphasising, therefore, the alleged misconduct of the young
concubine, they quoted the precedent of a certain Empress Consort of
Ch’ien-Lung who, for less grievous disrespect (shown to the Emperor’s
mother), was imprisoned for life. Thus, by inventions and suggestions,
they so worked on the sick man’s mind that he finally consented to
have Yehonala’s infant son, the Heir Apparent, removed from her care,
and authorised the child’s being handed over to the wife of Prince Yi,
who was summoned to the hunting-lodge Palace for that purpose. At the
same time, the conspirators thought it well to denounce Prince Kung
to the Emperor, his brother, accusing him of treachery, of conniving
with the foreigners against the Throne, and of abusing his powers as
Plenipotentiary. Prince Yi had been for years Prince Kung’s sworn enemy.
The further intentions of the conspirators, instigated by Su Shun, were
to massacre all Europeans in the capital and to put to death, or at least
imprison for life, the Emperor’s brothers. Accordingly they drafted in
advance the Decrees necessary to justify and explain these measures,
intending to publish them immediately after the Emperor’s death, which
was now imminent. But here an unforeseen obstacle presented itself,
the first of many created for them by the far-seeing intelligence of
Yehonala; for they found that she had somehow managed to possess herself
of the special seal, which inviolable custom requires to be affixed to
the first Edict of a new reign, in proof of validity of succession,—a
seal, in the personal custody of the Emperor, which bears the characters
meaning “lawfully transmitted authority.” Without this seal, any Decrees
which the usurpers might issue would lack something of legal finality
and, according to Chinese ideas, their subsequent cancellation would be
justifiable. But Prince Yi did not feel himself strong enough to risk a
crisis by accusing her or taking overt steps to gain possession of it.
Angry with his favourite concubine by reason of the reports of her
intimacy with Jung Lu, and his sickness ever increasing, the Emperor
lingered on in Jehol all the summer of that year, his duty in the
ancestral sacrifices at Peking being taken by Prince Kung. On the 4th
of the 6th Moon, the day before his thirtieth birthday, he issued the
following Decree in reply to a Memorial by the Court of Astronomers,
which had announced an auspicious conjunction of the stars for the
occasion:—
“Last month the Astronomers announced the appearance of a comet
in the north-west, which intimation we received as a solemn
warning of the impending wrath of Heaven. Now they memorialise
saying that the stars are in favourable conjunction, which is
doubtless a true statement, in no way inspired by their desire
to please us. But since we came to the Throne, we have steadily
refused to pay any attention to auspicious omens, and this with
good reason, in view of the ever-increasing rebellions in the
south and the generally pitiable condition of our people. May
the present auspicious conjunction of the stars portend the
dawning of a happier day, and may heaven permit a speedy end
to the rebellion. In token of our sincerity, we desire that
the Astronomical Court shall refrain from reporting to the
Chronicler’s Office the present favourable omen for inclusion
in the annals of our reign, so that there may be ascribed to us
the merit of a devout and sober mind.”
On the following morning the Emperor received the congratulations of his
Court in a pavilion of the Palace grounds, but Yehonala was excluded from
this ceremony. This was His Majesty’s last appearance in public; from
this date his illness became rapidly worse.
On the 7th of the 7th Moon Yehonala contrived to despatch a secret
courier to Prince Kung at Peking, informing him of the critical condition
of his brother and urging him to send with all haste a detachment
of the Banner Corps to which the Yehonala clan belonged. Events now
moved swiftly. On the 16th, the Grand Councillors and Ministers of the
Presence, all adherents of Tsai Yüan’s faction, entered the Emperor’s
bedroom and, after excluding the Empress Consort and the concubines,
persuaded the Emperor to sign Decrees appointing Tsai Yüan, Tuan Hua and
Su Shun to be Co-Regents upon his decease, with full powers. Yehonala was
to be expressly forbidden from exercising any form of control over the
Heir Apparent. As the necessary seal of State had been taken by Yehonala
and could not be found, these proceedings were irregular. At dawn on
the following day the Emperor died, and forthwith appeared the usual
valedictory Decree, prepared in advance by the conspirators, whereby
Tsai Yüan was appointed to be Chief Regent, Prince Kung and the Empress
Consort being entirely ignored.
In the name of the new Emperor, then a child of five, a Decree was
issued, announcing his succession, but it was observed to violate
all constitutional precedent in that it omitted the proper laudatory
references to the Imperial Consort. On the following day, however, the
Regents, fearing to precipitate matters, rectified the omission in an
Edict which conferred the rank of Empress Dowager both on the Empress
Consort and on Yehonala. The chroniclers aver that the reason for this
step lay in the Regents’ recognition of Yehonala’s undoubted popularity
with the troops (all Manchus) at Jehol, an argument that weighed more
heavily with them than her rights as mother of the Heir Apparent. They
hoped to rid themselves of this condition of affairs after the Court’s
return to Peking, but dared not risk internal dissensions by having her
removed until their positions had been made secure at the capital. That
they intended to remove her was subsequently proved; it was evident
that their position would never be secure so long as her ambitious and
magnetic personality remained a factor of the situation: but it was
necessary, in the first instance, to ascertain the effect of the Regency
at Peking and in the provinces.
Tsai Yüan’s next move was to publish Decrees, in the names of the Joint
Regents, by virtue of which they assumed charge of the Heir Apparent
and by which the title of “Chien Kuo” (practically equivalent to
Dictator) was conferred on the Chief Regent, a title heretofore reserved
exclusively for brothers or uncles of the Emperor.
When the news reached Peking, a flood of Memorials burst from the
Censorate and high officials. The child Emperor was implored to confer
the Regency upon the two Empresses, or, as the Chinese text has it, to
“administer the Government with suspended curtain.”[6] Prince Kung and
the Emperor’s other brothers were at this time in secret correspondence
with Yehonala, whom they, like the Censorate, had already recognised as
the master-mind of the Forbidden City. They urged her to do all in her
power to expedite the departure of the funeral cortège for the capital.
To secure this end, it was necessary to proceed with the greatest caution
and diplomacy, for several of the late Emperor’s wives had been won over
to the side of the usurpers, who could also count on a certain number
of the Manchu bodyguard, their own clansmen. The influence of Su Shun’s
great fortune was also no inconsiderable factor in the situation. The
man was personally unpopular with the people of Peking, because of his
abuse of power and too frequent connection with speculations in bank-note
issues and cash, which cost the citizens dear, but his vaults were known
to be full to over-flowing, and there is no city in the world where
money buys more political supporters than in Peking. Su Shun’s career has
had its counterpart, in everything except its sanguinary dénouement, in
the capital to-day.
[Illustration: HER MAJESTY TZŬ HSI IN THE YEAR 1903.]
At the moment the position of the Emperor’s family was prejudiced, and
the aims of the conspirators assisted, by the political situation. With
the capital occupied by foreign troops, and many of the provinces in the
throes of a great rebellion, the people might be expected to welcome a
change of rulers, and the ripe experience of the usurping Regents in all
matters of State was undeniable. But the virile and untiring energies of
Yehonala, ably supported by Jung Lu and other faithful followers, soon
put a new complexion on affairs, and the situation was further modified
in her favour by the success of her nominee, the Commander-in-Chief,
Tseng Kuo-fan, in capturing the city of An-ch’ing (in Anhui) from the
rebels, a victory that was regarded as of good augury to her cause.
Thereafter her courage and diplomacy enabled her to play off one opponent
against another, gaining time and friends until the conspirators’
chance was gone. Her own aims and ambitions, which had been voiced by
her friends in the Censorate, were, however, to some extent impeded by
the fact that a House-law of the Dynasty forbids the administration of
the Government by an Empress Dowager, while there were quite recent
precedents for a Regency by a Board, in the cases of the Emperors
Shun-Chih and K’ang-Hsi. In neither of these instances had the Empress
Tai-Tsung had any voice in the Government. The precedent for Boards of
official Regents had, however, come to be recognised as inauspicious,
because the several Regents of K’ang-Hsi’s minority had either been
banished or compelled to commit suicide. It is probable, too, that Prince
Kung, in instigating and supporting the claims of the Empresses, failed
to appreciate Yehonala’s strength of character, and believed that a
women’s Regency would leave the supreme power in his own hands.
A Manchu, who accompanied the flight to Jehol, describing his
experiences, lays stress upon Yehonala’s unfailing courage and personal
charm of manner, to which was due her popularity with the Imperial Guards
and her eventual triumph. At the most critical period of the conspiracy
she was careful to avoid precipitating a conflict or arousing the
suspicions of the usurpers by openly conferring with Jung Lu, and she
employed as her confidential intermediary the eunuch An Te-hai (of whom
more will be heard later). By means of this man daily reports were safely
despatched to Prince Kung at Peking, and, in the meanwhile, Yehonala
affected an attitude of calm indifference, treating Prince Yi with a
studied deference which lulled his suspicions.
On the 11th of the 8th Moon, the Board of Regents, after meeting to
discuss the situation, issued a Decree condemning in strong terms a
proposal put forward in a Memorial by the Censor, Tung Yüan-ch’un, that
the two Empresses should be appointed Co-Regents, and referring to the
death-bed Decree of the late Emperor as their own warrant of authority.
At the same time they announced, in the name of the young Emperor, that
the funeral cortège would start on its journey to the capital on the
second day of the next Moon. This was the step for which Yehonala had
been working and waiting. As Ministers of the Presence, the Regents were
perforce obliged to accompany the coffin throughout the entire journey
(some 150 miles) to the capital, and the great weight of the catafalque,
borne by one hundred and twenty men, would necessarily render the rate
of progress very slow through the stony defiles of the hills. Resting
places would have to be provided at stages of about fifteen miles along
the route to shelter the Imperial remains and the attendant officials
by night, so that the Regents might count on a journey of ten days at
least, and longer in the event of bad weather. To the Empresses, the
slow progress of the cortège was a matter of vital advantage, inasmuch
as they were not to take part in the procession, and, travelling ahead
of it, could reach the capital in five days with swift chair-bearers.
Dynastic custom and Court etiquette prescribe that upon the departure of
the funeral procession, the new Emperor and the consorts of the deceased
sovereign should offer prayers and libations, and should then press on
so as to be ready to perform similar acts of reverence on meeting the
cortège at its destination. Yehonala thus found herself in a position of
great strategic advantage, being enabled to reach the capital well in
advance of her enemies, and she speedily laid her plans with Prince Kung
to give them a warm reception.
Tsai Yüan and his colleagues were well aware that they were placed at
grave disadvantage in having to remain behind the young Empress, with
every prospect of serious trouble ahead; they, therefore, decided to
have Yehonala and the Empress Consort assassinated on the road, and to
that end gave orders that they should be escorted by the Chief Regent’s
personal bodyguard. Had it not been for Jung Lu, who got wind of the
plot, the Dowagers would assuredly never have reached the capital alive.
Acting with the promptitude which Yehonala inspired, he deserted the
funeral cortège by night with a considerable following of his own men,
and hastened on to the protection of the Empresses, overtaking them
before they reached Ku-pei K’ou, at the end of the pass from the plains
into Mongolia, which was the spot where the assassination was to have
taken place.
Heavy rains had fallen just after the departure of the procession from
Jehol. The roads became impassable, and the Empresses were compelled to
seek shelter in the Long Mountain gorge, where no sort of accommodation
had been provided. The cortège was then ten miles in their rear.
Yehonala, mindful ever of the proprieties, sent back several men of her
escort with a dutiful enquiry, in the name of her colleague and herself,
as to the safety of the Imperial coffin. The reply, in the form of an
Edict by Prince Yi and his Co-Regents, reported that the catafalque had
reached the first resting place in safety; whereupon Yehonala, asserting
as of right the prerogatives of supreme authority, donated to the bearers
a thousand taels from her Privy Purse in recognition of their arduous
services. Prince Yi, knowing full well that his own danger was increasing
every hour, and would continue so long as the Empresses remained free to
work against him, nevertheless played bravely the part prescribed for
him, conforming in the grand manner to the traditions of his position.
He forwarded a Memorial to the Empresses, humbly thanking them for their
solicitude for the Emperor’s remains. Yehonala, in reply, praised him for
his faithful devotion to duty. Thus, on the road to Death, they played
at Etiquette. Both these documents are filed in the Dynastic records
and afford remarkable evidence of the supreme importance which Chinese
and Manchus alike attach to forms and the written word even at the most
critical moments. Similar instances could be cited at the height of the
Boxer chaos.
The rains having ceased, the Empresses were able to proceed on their
journey, and having come safely through the hill passes under Jung Lu’s
protection, they were free from further danger of ambush. They reached
Peking on the 29th of the 9th Moon, three full days’ journey ahead of the
procession. Immediately upon their arrival a secret Council was held, at
which were present the Emperor’s brothers, together with the Ministers
and Imperial clansmen known to be loyal to their cause. Long and
anxiously did they confer. Although the Empress Mother was in possession
of the seal of legitimate succession, there was no known precedent for
so drastic a step as the summary, and possibly violent, arrest of high
officers of State convoying the Imperial coffin. Such a course, it was
felt, would be regarded as disrespectful to the late Emperor and an
inauspicious opening to the new reign. The consensus of opinion was,
therefore, on the side of slow and cautious measures, and it was decided
thus to proceed, conforming to all the outward observances of dynastic
tradition. The coffin once arrived, the first step would be to deprive
the Regents of their usurped authority; the rest would follow.
The cortège was due to arrive at the north-west gate of the city on
the morning of the 2nd of the 10th Moon, and on the previous evening
Prince Kung posted a large force of troops at this point to prevent any
attempt at a _coup de main_ by Tsai Yüan’s followers. The boy Emperor,
accompanied by the Empresses Dowager, came out to meet the coffin as it
approached the city, and with him were the late Emperor’s brothers and a
great following of officials. As the catafalque passed through the gate,
the Imperial party knelt and performed the prescribed acts of reverence.
Before the coffin came the Imperial insignia, and behind it a large
body of Manchu cavalry. Prince Yi and his Co-Regents, having performed
their duty in bringing the coffin safely to the city, next proceeded, as
required by custom, to make formal report in person to the young Emperor,
upon fulfilment of their charge. For this purpose they were received
in a large marquee erected just inside the city gate. Both Empresses
were present, together with the late Emperor’s brothers and the Grand
Secretaries Kuei Liang and Chou Tsu-p’ei.
Yehonala, calmly assuming, as was her wont, the principal _rôle_ and all
attributes of authority, opened the proceedings by informing Prince Yi
that the Empress Consort and she herself were grateful to him and to his
colleagues for the services which they had rendered as Regents and Grand
Councillors, of which duties they were now relieved. Prince Yi, putting
a bold face on it, replied that he himself was Chief Regent, legally
appointed, that the Empresses had no power to divest him of authority
properly conferred by the late Emperor, and that, during the minority of
the new Emperor, neither she herself nor any other person was entitled to
attend audience without his express permission.
“We shall see about that,” said Yehonala, and forthwith gave orders
to the attendant guards to place the three Regents under arrest. The
Imperial party then hastened to the Palace to be ready to meet the coffin
upon its arrival at the main entrance to the Forbidden City, for, however
acute the crisis, the dead take precedence of the living in China. The
deposed Regents quietly followed. All hope of escape or resistance was
out of the question, for the streets were lined with troops faithful to
Yehonala’s cause. Her triumph was complete, essentially a triumph of
mind over matter. It was her first taste of the pomp and circumstance of
supreme power.
Forthwith the Empresses proceeded to regularise their position by issuing
the following Decree, which bore the Great Seal of “Lawfully transmitted
authority”:—
“Last year the coasts of our Empire were disturbed and our
capital was in danger, misfortunes entirely due to the
mismanagement of affairs by the Princes and Ministers to whom
they had been entrusted. Prince Yi (Tsai Yüan) in particular
and his colleagues failed to deal satisfactorily with the
peace negotiations, and sought to lessen their responsibility
by their treacherous arrest of the British emissaries, thus
involving China in charges of bad faith. In consequence of
these their acts, the Summer Palace was eventually sacked by
the British and French troops and the Emperor was forced,
greatly against his will, to seek refuge in Jehol.
“Later, the Ministers of the newly established Tsungli Yamên
were able to arrange matters satisfactorily, and peace was
restored to the capital. Thereupon His late Majesty repeatedly
summoned the Grand Council to decide upon a date for his return
to Peking, but Tsai Yüan, Su Shun and Tuan Hua conspired
together, and, by making him believe that England and France
were not sincere in regard to peace, were able to prevent his
return and thus to oppose the will of the people.
“Subsequently His Majesty’s health suffered severely from
the cold climate of Jehol and from his arduous labours and
anxiety, so that he died on the 17th of the 7th Moon. Our
sorrow was even as a burning fire, and when we consider how
wickedly deceitful has been the conduct of Tsai Yüan and his
colleagues, we feel that the whole Empire must unite in their
condemnation. On ascending the Throne, it was our intention
to punish them, but we kept in mind the fact that to them
the Emperor had given his valedictory instructions, and we
therefore forbore, whilst observing carefully their behaviour.
Who could possibly have foretold their misdeeds?
“On the 11th of the 8th Moon, a Memorial was presented to us by
the Censor Tung Yüan-ch’un, at an audience of the eight Grand
Councillors, in which it was asked that the Empresses Dowager
should for the time being, and during our minority, administer
the Government, that one or two of the Princes should advise
them and that a high official should be appointed as tutor to
ourselves. These suggestions met with our entire approval.
It is true that there exists no precedent in the history of
our Dynasty for an Empress Dowager to act as Regent, but the
interests of the State are our first concern, and it is surely
wiser to act in accordance with the exigencies of the time than
to insist upon a scrupulous observance of precedent.[7]
“We therefore authorised Tsai Yüan to issue a Decree concurring
in the Censor’s proposals; but he and his colleagues adopted
an insolent tone towards us and forgot the reverence due to
our person. While pretending to comply with our wishes, they
issued a Decree quite different from that which we had ordered,
and promulgated it in our name. What was their object? They
professed to have no idea of usurping our authority, but what
else was their action but usurpation?
“Undoubtedly they took advantage of our extreme youth and of
the Empresses’ lack of experience in statecraft, their object
being to hoodwink us. But how could they hope to hoodwink the
entire nation? Their behaviour displays monstrous ingratitude
for His late Majesty’s favours, and any further leniency on
our part would be a just cause of offence to the memory of
the departed sovereign, and an insult to the intelligence of
the Chinese people. Tsai Yüan, Su Shun and Tuan Hua are hereby
removed from their posts. Ching Shou, Mu Yin, Kuang Tu-han and
Chiao Yu-ying are removed from the Grand Council. Let Prince
Kung, in consultation with the Grand Secretaries, the six
Boards and the nine Ministries consider, and report to us as to
the proper punishment to be inflicted upon them, in proportion
to their respective offences. As regards the manner in which
the Empresses shall administer the Government as Regents, let
this also be discussed and a Memorial submitted in reference to
future procedure.”
The Empresses duly performed the proper obeisances to the Imperial coffin
at the eastern gate of the Palace, escorting it thence to its temporary
resting place in the central Throne Hall.
In the security of Peking, and confident of the devotion of the troops,
Yehonala now proceeded to act more boldly. She issued a second Decree in
her own name and that of the Empress Consort, ordering that the three
principal conspirators be handed over to the Imperial Clansmen’s Court
for the determination of a severe penalty. Pending the investigation,
which was to be carried out under the Presidency of Prince Kung, they
were to be stripped of all their titles and rank. The vindictive autocrat
of the years to come speaks for the first time in this Edict.
“Their audacity in questioning our right to give audience
to Prince Kung this morning shows a degree of wickedness
inconceivable, and convicts them of the darkest designs. The
punishment so far meted out to them is totally inadequate to
the depth of their guilt.”
Against Su Shun, in particular, the Empress’s wrath burned fiercely. His
wife had insulted her in the days of her disgrace at Jehol, and Yehonala
had ever a good memory for insults. Next morning she issued the following
Decree for his especial benefit:—
“Because of Su Shun’s high treason, his wanton usurpation of
authority, his acceptance of bribes and generally unspeakable
wickedness, we commanded that he be degraded and arrested by
the Imperial Clansmen’s Court. But on receipt of the Decree,
Su Shun dared to make use of blasphemous language in regard
to ourselves, forgetful of the inviolable relation between
Sovereign and subject. Our hair stands on end with horror at
such abominable treason. Moreover he has dared to allow his
wife and family to accompany him, when on duty accompanying
the Imperial coffin from Jehol, which is a most disgraceful
violation of all precedent.[8] The whole of his property, both
at Peking and at Jehol, is therefore confiscated, and no mercy
shall be shown him.”
As Su Shun’s property was worth several millions sterling at the lowest
estimate, the Empress Dowager thus acquired at one stroke the sinews of
war and a substantial nucleus for that treasure hoard which henceforward
was to be one of the main objects of her ambition, and a chief source
of her power. During the present Dynasty there is a record of one
official wealthier than Su Shun, namely Ho Sh’en, a Grand Secretary under
Ch’ien Lung, whose property was similarly confiscated by that Emperor’s
successor.
But Yehonala’s lust of vengeance was not yet appeased. Her next Decree,
issued on the following day, gives evidence of that acquisitive faculty,
that tendency to accumulate property and to safeguard it with housewifely
thrift, which distinguished her to the end:—
“Su Shun was erecting for himself a Palace at Jehol, which is
not yet completed. Doubtless he has vast stores of treasure
there. Doubtless also he has buried large sums of gold and
silver somewhere in the vicinity of his Jehol residence, in
anticipation of the possible discovery of his crimes. Let all
his property in Jehol be carefully inventoried, when a Decree
will be issued as to its disposal. Let all his property be
carefully searched for treasure, to be handed over when found.
Any attempt at concealment by the Jehol authorities will entail
upon them the same punishment as that which is to be inflicted
upon Su Shun.”
On the 6th of the 10th Moon, Prince Kung and the Imperial Commission
sent in their report on the quite perfunctory enquiry into the charges
against Tsai Yüan and the other conspirators. In the following Decree the
offenders were finally disposed of:—
“The Memorial of our Imperial Commission recommends that, in
accordance with the law applying to cases of high treason,
the punishment of dismemberment and the lingering death be
inflicted upon Tsai Yüan, Tuan Hua and Su Shun. Our Decrees
have already been issued describing their abominable plot and
their usurpation of the Regency.
“On the day of His late Majesty’s death, these three traitors
claimed to have been appointed a Council of Regency, but, as a
matter of fact, His late Majesty, just before his death, had
commanded them to appoint us his successor, without giving
them any orders whatsoever as to their being Regents. This
title they proceeded to arrogate to themselves, even daring
to issue orders in that capacity and without the formality of
our Decree. Moreover they disobeyed the personal and express
orders given them by the Empresses Dowager. When the Censor
Tung Yüan-ch’un petitioned that the Empresses should assume
the government, they not only dared to alter the Decree which
we issued in reply, but they openly asserted at audience
their claim to be our Regents and their refusal to obey the
Empresses. If, said they, they chose to permit the Empresses to
see Memorials, this was more than their duty required. In fact,
their insubordination and violent rudeness found expression in
a hundred ways. In forbidding us to give audience to our uncles
and to the Grand Secretaries, they evidently meant to set us at
variance with our kindred. The above remarks apply equally to
all three traitors.
“As to Su Shun, he insolently dared to seat himself upon the
Imperial Throne. He would enter the Palace precincts unbidden,
and whether on duty or not. He went so far as to use the
Imperial porcelain and furniture for his own purposes, even
refusing to hand over certain articles that we required for
ourselves. He actually demanded an audience with the Empresses
separately, and his words, when addressing them, indicated a
cunning desire to set one Empress against the other, and to sow
seeds of discord. These remarks apply to the individual guilt
of Su Shun.
“Her Majesty the Empress Dowager, and Her Sacred Majesty the
Empress Dowager, our mother, duly informed the Commission of
Enquiry of these facts, and they have to-day given audience
to all the Princes and Ministers to enquire of them whether
the guilt of these three traitors admits of any extenuating
circumstances. It is unanimously determined that the law
allows of no leniency being shown to such flagrant treason
and wickedness as theirs. When we reflect that three members
of our Imperial kindred have thus rendered themselves liable
to a common felon’s death in the public square, our eyes are
filled with tears. But all these their misdeeds, in usurping
the Regency, have involved our tutelary deities in the direst
peril, and it is not only to ourselves but to our illustrious
ancestors that they must answer for their damnable treason.
No doubt they thought that, come what may, they were sure of
pardon, because of their having received the mandate of His
late Majesty, but they forgot that the mandate which they
have claimed was never legally issued, and if we were now to
pardon them we should render the law of no effect for all time
and prove unfaithful to the trust reposed in us by our late
father. The punishment of dismemberment and the lingering
death, which the Commission recommends, is indeed the proper
punishment for their crimes, but the House-law of our Dynasty
permits of leniency being shown, to a certain extent, to
members of the Imperial Family. Therefore, although, strictly
speaking, their crimes allow of no indulgence, we decide that
they shall not suffer the penalty of public disgrace. In token
of our leniency, Tsai Yüan and Tuan Hua are hereby permitted
to commit suicide, and Prince Su and Mien Sen are ordered to
proceed forthwith to the ‘Empty Chamber,’[9] and command the
immediate fulfilment of this order. It is not from any feeling
of friendliness towards these traitors that we allow this, but
simply to preserve the dignity of our Imperial family.
“As to Su Shun, his treasonable guilt far exceeds that of
his accomplices, and he fully deserves the punishment of
dismemberment and the slicing process, if only that the law may
be vindicated and public indignation satisfied. But we cannot
make up our mind to impose this extreme penalty and therefore,
in our clemency, we sentence him to immediate decapitation,
commanding Prince Jui and Tsai Liang to superintend his
execution, as a warning to all traitors and rebels.”
NOTE.—The hereditary Princedoms of Yi and Cheng which were forfeited
by the conspiring Princes after the death of Hsien-Feng, in 1861, were
restored by the Empresses Regent to commemorate their thanksgiving at the
suppression of the Taiping rebellion and the recapture of Nanking (1864).
In an Edict on the subject, Tzŭ Hsi recalled the fact that the original
patent of the Princedom of Yi was given to a son of the Emperor K’ang-Hsi
in 1723 and was to endure, according to the word of that Monarch, until
“the T’ai Mountain dwindles to the size of a grindstone, and the Yellow
River shrinks to the width of a girdle.” After referring to the main
features of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy and the guilt of the traitors, Tzŭ
Hsi proceeded “We permitted these Princes to commit suicide because they
were ungrateful to ourselves, and had brought disrepute on the good name
of their ancestors. If these are now conscious of their descendants’
misdeeds, while they wander beside the Nine Springs,[10] how great
must be the anguish of their souls! At the time we were advised by our
Princes and Ministers of State, to put an end for ever to these Princely
titles, and we did so in order to appease widespread indignation. Since
then, however, we have often thought sorrowfully of the achievements of
these Princely families during the early reigns of our Dynasty, and now
the triumph of our arms at Nanking provides us with a fitting occasion
and excuse to rehabilitate these Princedoms, so that the good name of
their founders may remain unblemished. We therefore hereby restore both
titles as Princes of the blood with all the estates and dependencies
appertaining thereto, and we command that the genealogical trees of these
two Houses be once more placed upon our Dynastic records in their due
order, it being always understood that the usurping Princes Tuan Hua and
Tsai Yüan, together with their descendants in the direct line for two
generations, are expressly excluded from participation in these restored
privileges. Original patents of the Princes of Yi and Cheng are hereby
restored, together with their titles, to the Dukes Cheng Chih and Tsai
Tun. And take heed now both of you Princes, lest you fall away from the
ancient virtue of your Houses! See to it that you long continue to enjoy
our favour by adding fresh lustre to your ancestral good name!”
The intention was undoubtedly well meant, but the Houses of Yi and Cheng
continued to incur the displeasure of the gods. The next Prince Yi but
one, was permitted to commit suicide in 1900, for alleged complicity in
the Boxer rising, but it is significant that his name was not on any
Black List drawn up by the foreign Powers, and that his death was due to
his having incurred the displeasure of the Old Buddha at a time when her
nerves were not particularly good, and when she was therefore liable to
hasty decisions. As to the House of Cheng, the holder of the title in
1900 committed suicide on the day when the Allies entered the city, a
disappointed patriot of the best Manchu model.
Tzŭ Hsi’s wrath against Su Shun found further vent three years after his
death in a Decree which debarred his sons and descendants from ever
holding public office, this punishment being inflicted on the ground that
he had allowed personal spite to influence him, when consulted by the
Emperor Hsien-Feng regarding the penalty to be inflicted on an offending
rival.
IV
THE FIRST REGENCY
Although the collapse of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy, and the stern justice
administered to its leaders, rendered Yehonala’s position secure
and made her _de facto_ ruler of the Empire (for her colleague was,
politically speaking, a negligible quantity, or nearly so), she was
extremely careful, during the first years of the Regency, to avoid all
conspicuous assumption of power and to keep herself and her ambitions
in the background, while she omitted no opportunity of improving her
knowledge of the art of government and of gaining the support of China’s
leading officials. For this reason all the Decrees of this period are
issued in the name of the Emperor, and Tzŭ Hsi’s assumption of authority
was even less conspicuous than during her period of retirement at the
Summer Palace after the conclusion of Kuang-Hsü’s minority. The first
Regency (1861-1873) may be described as Tzŭ Hsi’s tentative period of
rule, in which she tasted the sweets, while avoiding the appearance, of
power. During the second Regency (1875-1889), while her name appeared
only occasionally as the author of Imperial Decrees, she was careful to
keep in her hands all official appointments, the granting of rewards and
punishments and other matters of internal politics calculated to increase
her personal popularity and prestige with the mandarinate. The “curtain
was not suspended” during Kuang-Hsü’s minority, as he was the nominee
of the Empresses, whereas the Emperor T’ung-Chih held his mandate direct
from the late Emperor, his father. It was not until the final Regency
(1898-1908), which was not a Regency at all in the strict sense of the
word but an usurpation of the Imperial prerogative during the lifetime of
the sovereign, that, assured of the strength of her position, she gave
full rein to her love of power and, with something of the contempt which
springs from long familiarity, took unto herself all the outward and
visible signs of Imperial authority, holding audience daily in the Great
Hall of the Palace, seated on the Dragon Throne, with the puppet Emperor
relegated to a position of inferiority, recognised and acclaimed as the
Old Buddha, the sole and undisputed ruler of the Empire.
At the outset of her career, she appears to have realised that the idea
of female rulers had never been popular with the Chinese people; that
even the Empress Wu of the eighth century, the greatest woman in Chinese
history, was regarded as a usurper. She was aware that the Empress Lü
(whose character, as described by historians, was not unlike her own), to
whom was due the consolidation of power that marked the rise of the Han
Dynasty, enjoys but scant respect from posterity. On the other hand, she
knew—for the study of history was her pastime—that the Empresses Dowagers
of the past had often wielded supreme power in the State, principles and
precedents notwithstanding, and their example she determined to follow.
Upon the taking off of the three chief conspirators, the Censors and
Ministers urged her to deal in similar drastic fashion with their aiders
and abettors, and Prince Kung was anxious, if not for revenge, at least
for precautions being taken against those who had had the ear of the
late Emperor during the last months of his reign. But Yehonala showed
statesmanlike forbearance: early in life she realised that a few victims
are better than many, and that lives spared often mean whole families of
friends. After cashiering Prince Yi’s remaining colleagues of the Grand
Council, she dealt leniently with other offenders. When, for instance,
Chen Tu-en, President of the Board of Civil Appointments, was impeached
on the ground that it was he who had first persuaded the Emperor to
flee to Jehol against her advice, and that, after the Emperor’s death,
he alone of all the high officials at the capital had been summoned to
Jehol by the usurping Regents, she contented herself with removing him
from office, though his guilt was clearly proved. Another official, a
Minister of the Household, who had endeavoured to further the aims of the
conspirators, by dissuading Hsien-Feng from returning to Peking in the
spring of 1861, on the plea that an insurrection was impending, was also
cashiered. But there was nothing in the nature of a general proscription,
in spite of the pecuniary and other advantages which usually commend
retaliation to the party in power at Peking. In an able Decree, Tzŭ Hsi
let it be understood that she wished to punish a few only, and those
chiefly _pour encourager les autres_. It was always a characteristic of
hers that, when her ends were safely secured, she adopted a policy of
watchful leniency: _moderata durant_. In this instance she was fully
aware of the fact that Tsai Yüan and his colleagues would never have
had the opportunities, nor the courage, to conspire for the Regency
had they not been assured of the sympathy and support of many of the
higher officials, but she preferred to let the iron hand rest in its
velvet glove unless openly thwarted. She would have no proscriptions,
no wreaking of private grudges and revenges. It was this characteristic
of hers that, as will be seen in another place, obtained for her,
amongst the people of Peking in particular, a reputation for almost
quixotic gentleness, a reputation which we find expressed in frequent
references to the “Benign Countenance,” or “Benevolent Mother,” and which
undoubtedly represented certain genuine impulses in her complex nature.
So, having crushed the conspiracy, she contented herself with exhorting
all concerned to “attend henceforth strictly to their duty, avoiding
those sycophantic and evil tendencies which had brought Chen Tu-en and
Huang Tsung-ban to their disgrace.” In another Decree she emphasised the
principle that sins of omission are not much less grave than overt acts,
roundly censuring the Princes and Ministers of her Government for having
failed to denounce the conspirators at once, and charging them with
cowardice. It was fear and nothing else, she said, that had prevented
them from revealing the truth; and then, with one of those naïve touches
which makes Chinese Edicts a perpetual feast, she added that, should
there be any further plots of usurpers, she would expect to be informed
of their proceedings without delay. Above all, she bade the Imperial Clan
take warning by the fate of the three conspirators, and intimated that
any further attempts of this kind would be far more severely dealt with.
One of the first steps of the Regency was to determine the title of the
new reign. The usurping Princes had selected the characters “Chi-Hsiang,”
meaning “well-omened happiness,” but to Yehonala’s scholarly taste and
fine sense of fitness, the title seemed ill-chosen and redundant, and
as she wished to obliterate all memory of the usurpers’ _régime_, she
chose in its place the characters “T’ung-Chih,” meaning “all-pervading
tranquillity,” probably with one eye on the suppression of the rebellion
and the other on the chances of peace in the Forbidden City. As far as
all good augury for the Emperor himself was concerned, one title was, as
events proved, no more likely to be effective than the other.
On the same day as the proclamation of the new reign was made by Edict,
the Empresses Dowager issued a Decree explaining, and ostensibly
deprecating, the high honour thrust upon them.
“Our assumption of the Regency was utterly contrary to our
wishes, but we have complied with the urgent request of our
Princes and Ministers, because we realise that it is essential
that there should be a higher authority to whom they may
refer. So soon as ever the Emperor shall have completed his
education, we shall take no further part in the Government,
which will then naturally revert to the system prescribed by
all dynastic tradition. Our sincere reluctance in assuming the
direction of affairs must be manifest to all. Our officials are
expected loyally to assist us in the arduous task which we have
undertaken.”
[Illustration: EXTERIOR OF THE CH’IEN CH’ING PALACE.
_Photo, Ogawa, Tokio._]
Following upon this, a Decree was issued in the name of the Emperor,
which represented the boy as thanking their Majesties the Regents and
promising that, so soon as he came of age, he would endeavour, by dutiful
ministrations, to prove his gratitude.
For the procedure of Government it was then arranged that the Empresses
should daily hold joint audiences in the side Hall of the main Palace.
At these, and at all except the great Court ceremonies, the Emperor’s
great-uncle and four brothers were excused from performing the “kotow,”
the Emperor’s respect for the senior generation being thus indirectly
exhibited.
Upon their acceptance of the Regency, honorific titles were conferred
upon both Empresses. Each character in these titles represents a grant
from the public funds of 100,000 taels per annum (say, at that time,
£20,000). Thus the Empress Consort became known by the title of Tzŭ
An (Motherly and Restful) while Yehonala became Tzŭ Hsi (Motherly and
Auspicious), one being the Empress of the Eastern, and the other of
the Western Palace. At various subsequent periods, further honorific
characters, in pairs, were added unto them, so that, on her seventieth
birthday, Tzŭ Hsi was the proud possessor of sixteen. On that occasion
she modestly and virtuously refused the four additional characters
with which the Emperor Kuang-Hsü (not unprompted) desired to honour
her. Tzŭ An lived to receive ten in all; both ladies received two on
their thirtieth birthdays, two on the Emperor T’ung-Chih’s accession,
two just before his death in recognition of their “ministrations”
during his attack of small-pox, and two on their fortieth birthdays.
Tzŭ Hsi received two more on her fiftieth birthday, two on Kuang-Hsü’s
marriage, and two on her sixtieth birthday. Tzŭ Hsi’s complete official
designation at the end of her life was not easy to remember. It ran,
“Tzŭ-Hsi-Tuan-yu-K’ang-yi-Chao-yu-Chuang-ch’eng-Shou-kung-Ch’in-hsien-
Ch’ung-hsi-Huang Tai-hou,” which, being translated, means “The Empress
Dowager, motherly, auspicious, orthodox, heaven-blessed, prosperous,
all-nourishing, brightly manifest, calm, sedate, perfect, long-lived,
respectful, reverend, worshipful, illustrious and exalted.”
At the beginning of the Regency it suited Yehonala to conciliate and
humour Prince Kung. In conjunction with her colleague, she therefore
bestowed upon him the titles of “I-Cheng Wang,” or Prince Adviser to the
Government, and by special Decree she made the title of “Ch’in Wang,”
or Prince of the Blood (which had been bestowed upon him by the late
Emperor), hereditary in his family for ever.[11] Prince Kung begged to
be excused from accepting the former honour, whereupon ensued a solemn
parade of refusal on the part of the Empresses, one of whom, as events
proved, certainly wanted no adviser. Eventually, after much deprecation,
Their Majesties gave way as regards the hereditary title, but on the
understanding that the offer would be renewed at a more fitting season.
Yehonala who, in her better moments of grateful memory, could scarcely
forget the brave part which Prince Kung had played for her at Jehol, made
amends by adopting his daughter as a Princess Imperial, granting her the
use of the Yellow palanquin. The influence of this Princess over Tzŭ Hsi,
especially towards the end, was great, and it was strikingly displayed
in 1900 on behalf of Prince Tuan and the Boxer leaders.
Ignorant at the outset of many things in the procedure of Government
routine, feeling her way through the labyrinth of party politics and
foreign affairs, afraid of her own youth and inexperience, it was but
natural that Tzŭ Hsi should have recourse to the ripe wisdom of the
late Emperor’s brother and be guided by his opinion. But as time went
on, as her knowledge of affairs broadened and deepened, her autocratic
instincts gradually asserted themselves in an increasing impatience
of advice and restraint. As, by the study of history and the light of
her own intelligence, she gained confidence in the handling of State
business and men, the guidance which had previously been welcome became
distasteful, and eventually assumed the character of interference.
Despotic by nature, Tzŭ Hsi was not the woman to tolerate interference in
any matter where her own mind was made up, and Prince Kung, on his side,
was of a disposition little less proud and independent than her own. When
the young Yehonala began to evince a disposition to dispense with his
advice, he was therefore not inclined to conceal his displeasure, and
relations speedily became strained. As Tzŭ Hsi was at no pains to hide
her resentment, he gradually came to adopt a policy of instigating her
colleague, the Empress of the East, to a more independent attitude, a
line of action which could not fail to produce ill-feeling and friction
in the Palace. In the appointment of officials, also, which is the chief
object and privilege of power in China, he was in the habit of promoting
and protecting his own nominees without reference to Yehonala, by direct
communications to the provinces. Eye-witnesses of the events of the
period have recorded their impression that his attitude towards both
Empresses at the commencement of the Regency was somewhat overbearing;
that he was inclined to presume upon the importance of his own position
and services, and that on one occasion at audience, he even presumed to
inform the Empresses that they owed their position to himself, a remark
which Tzŭ Hsi was not likely to forget or forgive.
At the audiences of the Grand Council, it was the custom for the
two Empresses to sit on a raised daïs, each on her separate Throne,
immediately in front of which was suspended a yellow silk curtain;
they were therefore invisible to the Councillors, who were received
separately and in the order of their seniority, Prince Kung coming first
in his capacity as “adviser to the Government.” Beside their Majesties
on the daïs stood their attendant eunuchs; they were in the habit of
peeping through the folds of the curtain, keeping a careful eye upon the
demeanour of the officials in audience, with a view to noting any signs
of disrespect or breach of etiquette. Strictly speaking, no official,
however high his rank, might enter the Throne room unless summoned by the
chief eunuch in attendance, but Prince Kung considered himself superior
to such rules, and would enter unannounced. Other breaches of etiquette
he committed which, as Her Majesty’s knowledge of affairs increased,
were carefully noted against him; for instance, he would raise his voice
when replying to their Majesties’ instructions (which were always given
by Tzŭ Hsi), and on one occasion, he even ventured to ask that Tzŭ Hsi
should repeat something she had just said, and which he pretended not to
have understood. His attitude, in short (say the chroniclers), implied an
assumption of equality which the proud spirit of the young Empress would
not brook. Living outside the Palace as he did, having free intercourse
with Chinese and foreign officials on all sides, he was naturally in
a position to intrigue against her, did he so desire. Tzŭ Hsi, on the
other hand, was likely to imagine and exaggerate intrigues, since nearly
all her information came from the eunuchs and would therefore naturally
assume alarming proportions. There is little doubt that she gradually
came to believe in the possibility of Prince Kung working against
her authority, and she therefore set herself to prove to him that his
position and prerogatives depended entirely upon her good will.
She continued watching her opportunity and patiently biding her time
until the occasion presented itself in the fourth year of the Regency
(April, 1865). In a moment of absent-mindedness or bravado, Prince Kung
ventured to rise from his knees during an audience, thus violating
a fundamental rule of etiquette originally instituted to guard the
Sovereign against any sudden attack. The eunuchs promptly informed their
Majesties, whereupon Tzŭ Hsi called loudly for help, exclaiming that
the Prince was plotting some evil treachery against the persons of the
Regents. The Guards rushed in, and Prince Kung was ordered to leave
the presence at once. His departure was speedily followed by the issue
of an Imperial Decree, stating that he had endeavoured to usurp the
authority of the Throne and persistently overrated his own importance to
the State. He was accordingly dismissed from his position as adviser to
the Government, relieved of his duties on the Grand Council and other
high offices in the Palace; even his appointment as head of the Foreign
Office, or Tsungli Yamên, was cancelled. “He had shown himself unworthy
of their Majesties’ confidence,” said the Edict, “and had displayed
gross nepotism in the appointment of high officials: his rebellious and
usurping tendencies must be sternly checked.”
A month later, however, Tzŭ Hsi, realising that her own position was
not unassailable, and that her treatment of this powerful Prince had
created much unfavourable comment at Court and in the provinces, saved
her face and the situation simultaneously, by issuing a Decree in the
name of herself and her colleague, which she described as a Decree of
explanation. In this document she took no small credit to herself for
strength of character and virtue in dealing severely with her near
kinsmen in the interests of the State, and pointed to the fact that
any undue encouragement of the Imperial clansmen, when inclined to take
a line of their own, was liable, as history had repeatedly proved,
to involve the country in destructive dissension. Her real object
in inflicting punishment on the Prince for treating the Throne with
disrespect was to save him from himself and from the imminent peril of
his own folly. But now that several Memorials had been sent in by Censors
and others, requesting that his errors be pardoned, the Throne could have
no possible objection to showing clemency and, the position having been
made clear, Prince Kung was restored to the position of Chamberlain, and
to the direction of the Foreign Office. The Prince, in fact, needed a
lesson in politeness and, having got it, Her Majesty was prepared to let
bygones be bygones, it being clearly understood that, for the future,
he should display increased energy and loyalty as a mark of his sincere
gratitude to their Majesties.
A week later, Tzŭ Hsi, in order to drive the lesson home, issued the
following Decree in the name of the Empresses Regent.
“We granted an audience this morning to Prince Kung in order
to permit him to return thanks for his re-appointment. He
prostrated himself humbly and wept bitterly, in token of his
boundless self-abasement. We naturally took occasion to address
to him some further words of warning and advice, and the Prince
seemed genuinely grieved at his errors and full of remorse for
misconduct which he freely acknowledged. Sincere feeling of
this kind could not fail to elicit our compassion.
“It is now some years since we first assumed the burden of
the Regency and appointed Prince Kung to be our chief adviser
in the Government; in this position his responsibility has
been as great as the favour which we have bestowed upon him.
The position which he has occupied in special relation to the
Throne, is unparalleled; therefore we expected much from him
and, when he erred, the punishment which we were compelled to
inflict upon him was necessarily severe. He has now repented
him of the evil and acknowledged his sins. For our part we
had no prejudice in this matter, and were animated only by
strict impartiality; it was inconceivable that we should desire
to treat harshly a Councillor of such tried ability, or to
deprive ourselves of the valuable assistance of the Prince.
We therefore now restore him to the Grand Council, but in
order that his authority may be reduced, we do not propose to
reinstate him in his position as ‘adviser to the Government.’
Prince Kung, see to it now that you forget not the shame
and remorse which have overtaken you! Strive to requite our
kindness and display greater self-control in the performance of
your duties! Justify our high confidence in you by ridding your
mind of all unjust suspicions and fears.”
In the autumn of this year, 1865, took place the burial of the late
Emperor, Hsien-Feng, the preparation of whose tomb had been proceeding
for just four years. With him was buried his consort Sakota, who had
died in 1850, a month before her husband’s accession to the Throne; her
remains had been awaiting burial at a village temple, seven miles west
of the capital, for fifteen years. As usual, the funeral ceremonies and
preparation of the tombs involved vast expenditure, and there had been
considerable difficulty in finding the necessary funds, for the southern
provinces, which, under ordinary circumstances would have made the
largest contributions, were still suffering severely from the ravages
of the Taiping rebellion. The Emperor’s mausoleum had cost nominally
ten million taels, of which amount, of course, a very large proportion
had been diverted for the benefit of the officials of the Household and
others.
The young Emperor, and the Empresses Regent proceeded, as in duty bound,
to the Eastern Tombs to take their part in the solemn burial ceremonies.
Prince Kung was in attendance; to him had fallen the chief part in the
preparation of the tomb and in the provision of the funds, and Her
Majesty had no cause to complain of any scamping of his duties. The body
of the Emperor, in an Imperial coffin of catalpa wood, richly lacquered
and inscribed with Buddhist sutras, was borne within the huge domed grave
chamber, and there deposited in the presence of their Majesties upon its
“jewelled bedstead,” the pedestal of precious metals prepared to receive
it. In the place of the concubines and eunuchs, who in prehistoric days
used to be buried alive with the deceased monarch, wooden and paper
figures of life size were placed beside the coffin, reverently kneeling
to serve their lord in the halls of Hades. The huge candles were lighted,
prayers were recited, and a great wealth of valuable ornaments arranged
within the grave chamber; gold and jade sceptres, and a necklace of
pearls were placed in the coffin. And when all was duly done, the great
door of the chamber was slowly lowered and sealed in its place.
Next day the Empresses Dowager issued a Decree in which Prince Kung’s
meritorious acts are graciously recognised, and their Majesties’ thanks
accorded to him for the satisfactory fulfilment of the funeral ceremonies.
“Prince Kung has for the last five years been preparing the
funeral arrangements for his late Majesty and has shown a due
sense of decorum and diligence. To-day, both the late Emperor
and his senior consort have been conveyed to their last resting
place, and the great burden of our grief has been to some
extent mitigated by our satisfaction in contemplating the
grandeur of their tombs, and the solemn ceremonies of their
burial. No doubt but that the spirit of His Majesty in Heaven
has also been comforted thereby. We now feel bound to act in
accordance with the fraternal affection which always animated
the deceased Emperor towards Prince Kung, and to bestow upon
him high honours. But the Prince has repeatedly declined to
accept any further dignities, lest perchance he should again
be tempted to arrogance. His modesty meets with our approval,
and we therefore merely refer his name to the Imperial Clan
Court, for the selection of a reward. But we place on record
the fact that as Grand Councillor he has been of great service
to us, and has of late displayed notable circumspection and
self-restraint in all matters.
“The Decree which we issued last Spring was caused by the
Prince’s want of attention to small details of etiquette, and
if we were obliged to punish him severely, our motives have
been clearly explained. No doubt everyone in the Empire is
well aware of the facts, but as posterity may possibly fail to
realise all the circumstances, and as unjust blame might fall
upon the memory of Prince Kung, if that Decree were allowed to
remain inscribed amongst the Imperial Archives, thus suggesting
a flaw in the white jade of his good name, we now command that
the Decree in which we announced Prince Kung’s dismissal from
office be expunged from the annals of our reign. Thus is our
affection displayed towards a deserving servant, and his good
name preserved untarnished to all time.”
The Empress Dowager was essentially a woman of moods, and these Imperial
Decrees simply reflect the fact, at the beginning of her autocratic
rule, as they did until its close. Four years later Prince Kung was to
incur her deep and permanent dislike by conspiring with her colleague to
deprive her of her favourite, the chief eunuch An Te-hai.
V
TSENG KUO-FAN AND THE TAIPING REBELLION (1864)
The first years of Yehonala’s Co-Regency, during which she was steadily
acquiring the arts and crafts of Government, and gradually relegating
her easy-going colleague to the background, were joyfully associated
in the minds of her subjects with the decline and final collapse of
the great rebellion which had devastated the best part of the Empire
since 1850. Chinese historians (a body of writers who depend largely
on each others’ writings for material) agree in attributing the final
deliverance from this scourge to the ability and courage of the famous
Viceroy Tseng Kuo-fan,[12] and for once their praises are well-deserved,
for this military scholar like his fellow provincial and colleague, Tso
Tsung-t’ang,[13] was a man of the heroic breed of philosophers which,
with all its faults, the Confucian system has always produced, and
continues to produce, to the great benefit of the Chinese people, a man
whose name ranks high among China’s worthies, a household word for
honesty and intelligent patriotism.
It was one of the secrets of Tzŭ Hsi’s success as a ruler that she
recognised and appreciated merit whenever she found it, and especially
the merit of a military commander: it was only when she allowed her
superstitious tendencies to outweigh her judgment that she failed. For
the character and talents of Tseng Kuo-fan she had the highest respect,
due, no doubt, in the first instance to the effect of his military
despatches, stirring tales of camp and siege, on her imaginative mind,
but later to personal acquaintance with his sterling qualities. With the
single exception of Jung Lu, probably no high official ever stood so
high in her affectionate esteem, and Jung Lu was a Manchu kinsman, while
Tseng came from one of the proverbially independent gentry families of
Hunan. From a Chinese narrative of the Taiping rebellion, we are able
to obtain a very clear impression, not only of Tseng’s character and of
his conception of patriotism but also of the remarkable and undisputed
position of autocratic power already at that time enjoyed by the youthful
Empress Tzŭ Hsi. Before turning to this narrative, however, certain
points in connection with the final defeat of the Taipings deserve to
be noted, events with which Englishmen were prominently identified, but
which, as recorded by British eye-witnesses, confirm our doubts as to the
historical value of Imperial Edicts and Chinese official despatches.
The Emperor Hsien-Feng had died in exile and defeat at Jehol in August
1861. The Summer Palace had been destroyed by the British and French
forces, peace had been restored, and the Co-Regency of the Empresses
Dowager had commenced. One of the first acts of Prince Kung, in his
capacity as “Adviser to the Government” after the conclusion of the
Peace Convention of October 1860, was to invoke the aid of his country’s
conquering invaders against the Chinese rebels, whose strong position
on the Yangtsze was causing the Court ever increasing anxiety. It is
an illuminating example of Chinese methods of government, not without
parallels and value to-day, that even while the British and French
forces were concentrating at Shanghai for their invasion of north China,
high Chinese officials in the Yangtsze provinces had not hesitated to
invoke their aid against the rebels, and had been chagrined at a refusal
which appeared to them unwise since it ignored the interests of British
trade at its most important centre. The history of the “Ever-Victorious
Army” need not be referred to here. It kept the rebels in check in the
province of Kiangsu throughout the year 1862, and in February 1863 the
British Government sanctioned the lending of “Chinese Gordon” to take
command of that force, which was speedily to turn the tide of war in
favour of the Imperialists and effectively to pave the way for Tseng
Kuo-fan’s final restoration of law and order. Soochow, the provincial
capital, was regained in December 1863, and in the following July the
fall of the rebel capital (Nanking) and the death of the rebel “King”
practically ended the insurrection. A considerable number of Europeans,
including a French Admiral, had given their lives to win back China
for the Manchu Dynasty, although at the outset public opinion was in
favour of strict neutrality and there were many, even then, who thought
China would be well rid of her degenerate rulers: nevertheless, the
triumphant Edict in which is recorded Tseng Kuo-fan’s capture of Nanking
contains no word of reference to Gordon and the invaluable help which he
rendered, and, as will be seen, Tseng’s only reference to the British
Commander is to accuse him of having recommended the inhuman treatment
of a defenceless prisoner. In accordance with the invariable classical
tradition, he ascribes his success to “the consummate virtue and wisdom”
of the late Emperor Hsien-Feng; the tradition represents, in conventional
phraseology, the Oriental conception of the divine right of kings,
and their infallibility (a conception which we find reproduced almost
verbatim in the modern Japanese Generals’ modest reports of their
greatest victories), and it is incompatible in China with any reference
to the existence, much less the services, of foreign barbarians. The
fact is worth noting, for Tseng was an exceptionally intelligent and
courageous man who could, sooner than most men, have ventured on a new
departure; and he knew full well that this same Gordon, who had steadily
driven the rebels before him, cane in hand for over a year, had come
hot-foot to the task from the sacking of the Manchu sovereigns’ Summer
Palace!
But Yehonala’s joy at the fall of Nanking was unfeignedly great, and the
Decree in which, in the name of the boy Emperor, she records the event
and rewards the victors, is a brilliant example of her literary style. We
take the following extracts from this document, as of permanent interest
and throwing light on the character of Tzŭ Hsi.
_Decree on the Fall of Nanking._
“An express courier from Tseng Kuo-fan, travelling two hundred
miles a day, has just arrived, bearing the red banner of
decisive victory and a Memorial describing the capture of
Nanking, the suicide by burning of the rebel Prince, the
complete destruction of the Taiping host and the capture of
two of their leading commanders. Perusal of this Memorial
fills us with the deepest joy and gratitude, which all our
people will share. The leader of the long haired rebels[14]
Hung Hsiu-ch’uan first raised his standard of revolt in the
thirtieth year of Tao-Kuang (1850); from Kuangsi the movement
spread gradually through Hunan, Hupei and the Yangtsze
provinces to Chihli itself and Shantung, until scarcely a
spot in the whole Empire but bore the footprints of the rebel
armies. In the third year of Hsien-Feng (1853) they took
Nanking and there established the seat of their Government.
Uncounted thousands of our subjects have fallen victims to
their savage crimes. The cup of their guilt has indeed
overflowed. Gods and men alike hold them in abhorrence.
“Our Imperial father, in the majesty of his wrath, and in all
reverence to Heaven, began a punitive campaign against them and
named Kuan Wen, the Viceroy of Wu-Ch’ang, to be his Imperial
Commissioner for the war. This officer successfully cleared
the Hupei region of rebels and then marched eastwards towards
Kiangsu in order to extirpate them there also. Later, Tseng
Kuo-fan was made Viceroy of Nanking and Imperial Commissioner
for the campaign in Kiangsu and Anhui, and he achieved great
results, proportionate to his high responsibility.
“On the death of our late father (1861), half the cities of
Kiangsu and Chekiang had been retaken by our forces, and it was
a source of grief to His Majesty, recorded in his valedictory
Decree, that he could not have lived to see the end of the
rebellion. Upon our succeeding to the goodly heritage of the
Throne, obeying our late father’s commands and listening to the
sage counsel of the Empresses Regent, we promoted Tseng Kuo-fan
to be an Assistant Grand Secretary and gave him full powers as
Commander-in-Chief over the four provinces of Kiangsu, Kiangsi,
Anhui and Chekiang, so as to secure an undivided plan of
campaign.
“Ever since his appointment he has adopted a policy of
masterful strategy in combination with the forces of P’eng
Yu-lin and Tseng Kuo-ch’uan,[15] attacking the rebels both by
land and by water. Over a hundred cities have been recaptured
and over a hundred thousand rebels, who were advancing to the
relief of Nanking, have been slain and ‘their left ears cut
off.’[16] Nanking was thus completely invested and its relief
became impossible. Early this month the outer defences of the
city were taken and some thirty thousand rebels put to the
sword, but their so-called King and his desperate followers
were still at bay in the inner city, fighting fiercely to the
end.
“Tseng Kuo-fan now reports that after the capture by our troops
of the outer city ramparts, the rebels greatly strengthened
the inner defences. Our men succeeded in taking the ‘Dragon’s
Elbow’ hill and a general bombardment followed. Mining and
counter-mining went on furiously in the vicinity of the chief
forts amidst desperate encounters. At dawn on the 16th all our
forces were collected, and by springing a mine under the wall
of the city a breach was made some sixty yards in width. Our
men rushed the gap, burst into the city and were advancing on
all sides when the rebels from the wall exploded a magazine,
and many of our men were slain. A panic was only averted by our
leaders cutting down a number of those who were attempting to
fly.
[_Here follows a detailed description of the fighting, which we omit._]
“By 1 A.M. flames were bursting from the Palace of the
‘Heavenly King’ and the residences of other rebel leaders. One
of them rushed from the main Palace Hall with one thousand
followers and sought refuge in some houses near the south
gate of the city. After some seven hundred of his men had
been slain, he was captured, and on his person were found two
Imperial seals of jade and one official seal of gold. At 3 A.M.
about a thousand of the rebels, disguised in our uniforms,
escaped through the tunnel at the Gate of Heavenly Peace
but our cavalry pursued them and captured or destroyed the
whole force at Hu-Shu chen, where their leader, the ‘Glorious
Prince,’ was taken alive. On being examined, this leader whose
name was Li Wan-ts’ai, admitted that seven of the so-called
Princes of the Taipings had been slain by our forces, while
seeking to escape under cover of darkness, on the night of our
entrance into the city.
“According to the evidence of other rebels, the arch-leader
Hung Hsiu-ch’uan, had committed suicide by taking poison a
month before. He had been buried in the court-yard of his
Palace, and his son, the so-called Boy-Prince, had succeeded
to the usurped title. He also had committed suicide by burning
when the city fell. Another of their chiefs, one Li Hsiu-cheng,
had been wounded and was in hiding at a spot near by, where our
men found him together with the elder brother of the ‘Heavenly
King.’ During these three days, over a hundred thousand rebels
were killed, of whom some three thousand were their so-called
Princes, generals, and high officers.
“This glorious victory is entirely due to the bountiful
protection of Heaven, to the ever-present help of our
Ancestors, and to the foresight and wisdom of the Empresses
Regent, who, by employing and promoting efficient leaders for
their armies, have thus secured co-operation of all our forces
and the accomplishment of this great achievement, whereby the
soul of our late father in Heaven must be comforted, and the
desire of all people fulfilled. For ourselves we feel utterly
unworthy of this crowning triumph, and we are truly distressed
at the thought that our late father could not live to witness
this consummation of his unfinished plans. This rebellion has
now lasted fifteen years, during twelve of which Nanking has
been held by the rebels. They have devastated about a dozen
provinces, and have captured some hundreds of cities. Their
final defeat we owe to our Generals, ‘who have been combed by
the wind and bathed in the rain,’ and who have undergone every
conceivable hardship in bringing about the destruction of these
unspeakable traitors. We are therefore bound to recognise their
exceptional services by the bestowal of exceptional rewards.
Tseng Kuo-fan first contributed to this glorious end by
raising a force of militia in Hunan and a fleet of war-vessels
with which he won great victories, saving his province from
complete ruin. He re-captured Wu-Ch’ang, cleared the whole
province of Kiangsi, and, advancing eastwards, recovered city
after city. That glorious success has finally crowned our
efforts is due chiefly to his masterly strategy and courage,
to his employment of able subordinates and to his remarkable
powers of organisation. We now confer upon him the title of
Senior Guardian of the Throne, a marquisate of the first rank,
hereditary in perpetuity, and the decoration of the double-eyed
peacock’s feather.
[_Here follows a long list of officers rewarded, beginning with Tseng
Kuo-fan’s brother, above mentioned, who was given an earldom._]
“As soon as the troops have found the body of the usurper
known as the ‘Heavenly King,’ Hung Hsiu-ch’uan, let it be
dismembered forthwith and let the head be sent for exhibition
in every province that has been ravaged by his rebellion, in
order that the public indignation may be appeased. As to the
two captured leaders, let them be sent in cages to Peking, in
order that they may be examined and then punished with death by
the lingering process.”
A further Decree announced that the Emperor would go in person to offer
thanksgiving and sacrifice at all Imperial Temples and shrines, and make
sacrifice to deities of the chief mountains and rivers of the Empire.
A Chinese diarist of the rebellion, referring to the manner in which the
‘Heavenly King’ met his death, says:—
“From the moment that the Imperialists captured Ch’u-yung, the
rebels, pent up in Nanking like wild beasts in a cage, were
in a hopeless plight. From the commencement of the 4th Moon,
the city was completely invested, and without hope of relief.
They were living on reduced rations of one meagre meal a day.
The ‘Heavenly King’ caused roots and leaves to be kneaded and
rolled into pellets which he had served out to his immediate
followers, the rebel chiefs, saying, ‘This is manna from
Heaven; for a long time we in the Palace have eaten nothing
else.’ He gave orders that every household should collect ten
loads of this stuff for storage in the Palace granaries; some
of the more ignorant people obeyed the order, but most of the
rebels ignored it.
“The rebel Li Hsiu-ch’eng, known as the ‘Patriotic Prince,’
escaped from Ch’u-yung and made his way to Nanking. Upon
entering the city, he had drums beaten and bells rung as a
signal for the ‘Heavenly King’ and his followers to ascend
to the Throne Chamber for the discussion of the perilous
situation. Hung Hsiu-ch’uan came, and boastfully ascending the
Throne, spake as follows ‘The Most High has issued to me his
sacred Decree. God the Father, and my Divine elder brother
(Christ) have commanded me to descend unto this world of flesh
and to become the one true lord of all nations and kindreds
upon earth. What cause have I then for fear? Remain with me,
or leave me, as you choose: my inheritance of this Empire,
which is even as an iron girdle of defence, will be protected
by others if you decline to protect it. I have at my command
an angelic host of a million strong: how then could a hundred
thousand or so of these unholy Imperialists enter the city’?
When Li Hsiu-ch’eng heard this nonsensical boasting, he burst
into tears and left the hall.
“But before the middle of the 5th Moon, Hung Hsiu-ch’uan had
come to realise that the city was doomed, and on the 27th day,
having abandoned all hope, he procured a deadly poison which he
mixed with his wine. Then raising the cup on high, he cried,
‘It is not that God the Father has deceived me, but it is I who
have disobeyed God the Father.’ After repeating this several
times he drank the poison. By midnight the measure of his
iniquity was full, and, writhing in agony, he died. Even his
last words showed no true repentance, although they amounted
to an admission of guilt. When his followers learned what
had happened, they wrapped his body in a coverlet of yellow
silk, embroidered with dragons and then, following the rule
of their religion, buried it, uncoffined, in a corner of the
Palace ground. They then placed on the Throne the rebel’s son,
the so-called Boy-Emperor, but they tried to keep secret the
news of the ‘Heavenly King’s’ death. It eventually leaked out,
however, and the courage of the besieged dropped to the last
depths of despair.”
In his Memorial to the Throne, Tseng Kuo-fan described the exhumation of
the rebel Emperor’s body.
“Even the feet of the corpse were wrapped in dragon
embroideries,” he says; “he had a bald head and a beard
streaked with grey. After examining the body I beheaded it and
then burnt it on a large bonfire. One of the concubines in the
usurper’s palace, a woman named Huang, who had herself prepared
the body for burial, told me that the ‘Heavenly King’ seldom
showed himself to his Court, so that they were able to keep his
death a secret for sixteen days. I am sending his bogus seals
to Peking that they may be deposited in the Imperial Archives
Department.”
The Memorial then proceeds:—
“The prisoner Li Hsiu-ch’eng, known as the ‘Patriotic Prince,’
was minutely cross-examined by myself, and his statement, which
he wrote out with his own hand, extends to some thirty thousand
words. He narrated in detail the first causes of the rebellion
and described the present position of the rebels still at large
in Shensi and elsewhere. He strongly advised that we should not
be too hard on the defeated rebels from Kuangtung and Kuangsi,
on the ground that severity would only lead to an increase of
the anti-dynastic feeling in those provinces. It seems to me
that there is much sense in his advice.
“All my staff were most anxious that Li Hsiu-ch’eng should be
sent to Peking in a cage, and even the foreigner Gordon, when
he called to congratulate me, strongly urged this course. But
it seems to me that the high prestige of our Sacred Dynasty
needs no such sending of petty rebels to Peking as trophies or
prisoners of war. The ‘Heavenly King’s’ head is now being sent
round those provinces which were laid waste by the rebellion,
and this should suffice. Besides, I feel that there would be
some risk of Li starving himself to death on the journey,
or that a rescue might even be attempted, for this Li was
extraordinarily popular with the common people. After the
fall of the city, some peasants gave him shelter, and when
he was finally captured the people of the village where he
was taken decoyed and slew one of our men in revenge. After
he had been put in his cage here, another rebel leader, the
so-called ‘Pine Prince,’ was brought into camp. As soon as he
caught sight of Li, he went down on his knees and saluted him
most respectfully, I therefore decided to behead him and the
sentence was duly carried out on the 6th instant.
“The two elder brothers of the ‘Heavenly King’ were men of a
cruel and savage nature, who committed many foul and impious
crimes. Li detested them both heartily. When captured, they
were in a dazed state, and could only mumble ‘God the Father,
God the Father.’ As I could get no information from them,
and as they were sick unto death, I had them both beheaded,
two days before the execution of Li Hsiu-ch’eng. I am now in
receipt of your Majesties’ Decree, approving my action and
ordering me to forward the heads of the three rebel chiefs to
the various provinces in order that public indignation may be
appeased. I have duly suspended the heads from long poles, and
the sight of them has given great and general satisfaction.
“And now, victory being ours, I am led to the reflection that
this our Dynasty surpasses all its predecessors in martial
glory and has suppressed several rebellions by achievements
which shed lustre on our history. The Ssŭ-ch’uan and Hupei
rebellion of half a century ago was, however, limited to four
provinces, and only some twenty cities were held by the rebels.
The insurrection of Wu San-kuei, in the reign of K’ang-Hsi,
overran twelve provinces, and the rebels captured some three
hundred cities and towns. But this Taiping rebellion has been
on a scale vaster than any before, and has produced some great
leaders in its armies. Here in Nanking not a single rebel
surrendered. Many burned themselves alive rather than be taken.
Such things are unparalleled in history, and we feel that the
final happy issue is due to the consummate virtue and wisdom of
his late Majesty, which alone made victory possible. By dint of
careful economy in the Palace, he was able to set aside large
sums for the equipment of adequate forces. Most careful in his
choice of leaders, he was lavish of rewards; all wise himself,
yet was he ever ready to listen to the advice of his generals.
Your Majesties the Empresses and the Emperor have faithfully
carried out and even amplified these principles, and thus you
have succeeded in wiping out these usurpers and have shed great
glory on your reign. We, who so unworthily hold your high
command, grieve greatly that His Majesty did not live to see
his work crowned with triumph.”
For four years after the collapse of the rebellion, Tseng Kuo-fan
remained at Nanking as Viceroy. (The Hunanese still regard that post
as belonging by prescriptive right to a Hunanese official.) His only
absence was during a brief expedition against the Mahomedan rebels in
Shantung. In September 1868 he was appointed Viceroy of Chihli, and left
for Peking at the end of the year, receiving a remarkable ovation from
the people of Nanking. In Peking he was received with great honours, and
in his capacity of Grand Secretary had a meeting with the Council on the
morning after his arrival, followed immediately by an Audience, to which
he was summoned and conducted by one of the Princes. The young Emperor
was sitting on a Throne facing west, and the Empresses Regent were behind
him, screened from view by the yellow curtain, Tzŭ An to the left and Tzŭ
Hsi to the right of the Throne. In the Chinese narrative of the rebellion
to which we have already referred, the writer professes to report this
audience, and several that followed, practically verbatim, and as it
affords interesting information as to the manner and methods of Tzŭ Hsi
on these occasions, the following extracts are worthy of reproduction. It
is to be observed that the writer, like all his contemporaries, assumes
_ab initio_ that the Empress Tzŭ An, though senior, is a negligible
quantity and that the whole interest of the occasion lies between Tzŭ Hsi
and the official in audience.
Upon entering the Throne room, Tseng fell upon his knees, as in duty
bound, and in that position advanced a few feet, saying “Your servant
Tseng Kuo-fan respectfully enquires after Your Majesties’ health.” Then
removing his hat and performing the kowtow, he humbly returned thanks
for Imperial favours bestowed upon him. These preliminaries completed,
he rose and advanced a few steps to kneel on the cushion prepared for
him below the daïs. The following dialogue then took place:—
_Her Majesty Tzŭ Hsi._ When you left Nanking, was all your
official work completed?
_Tseng._ Yes, quite completed.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ Have the irregular troops and braves all been
disbanded?
_Tseng._ Yes, all.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ How many in all?
_Tseng._ I have disbanded over twenty thousand irregulars and
have enrolled thirty thousand regulars.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ From which province do the majority of these men
hail?
_Tseng._ A few of the troops come from Hunan, but the great
majority are Anhui men.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ Was the disbandment effected quite quietly?
_Tseng._ Yes, quite quietly.
Then follow numerous questions regarding Tseng’s previous career, his
family, &c. As soon as the questions cease, after waiting a few minutes,
the audience is at an end, and Tseng kowtows and retires. On each
occasion, and they were many, the Empress had evidently worked up her
questions carefully from study of reports and despatches, and invariably
put them in the short sharp form indicated; always peremptory, _de haut
en bas_ and Cæsarian, this woman “behind the screen,” addressing the
veteran who had saved China for her rule.
After describing Tseng’s important position at the Court banquet given to
high officials, Manchu and Chinese, on the 16th day of the 1st Moon (at
which six plays were performed and the dishes “passed all reckoning”),
the narrative gives an account of his farewell audience, at which Her
Majesty closely cross-examined him as to his plans for the reorganisation
of the naval and military forces of Chihli. He held the post of Chihli
Viceroy for a little over a year. The viceregal residence in those days
was at Pao-ting fu, so that when the Tientsin massacre occurred (1870)
he was not directly to blame, though officially responsible. In June of
that year the Nanking Viceroy was assassinated, and Tseng was ordered
to resume duty at that post, his place in Chihli being taken by Li
Hung-chang, who held it for twenty-four years. Tseng, whose health was
failing, endeavoured to have his appointment to Nanking cancelled, but
Tzŭ Hsi would take no excuses. She issued a Decree in which she laid
stress on the arduous nature of the work to be done at the southern
capital and Tseng’s special fitness for the post which he had so ably
administered in the past. “Even if his eyesight troubles him,” she said,
“he can still exercise a general supervision.”
Before leaving for the south, Tseng celebrated his sixtieth birthday,
receiving many marks of Imperial favour and rich gifts. The Empress
sent him a poem of congratulation in her own handwriting, and a tablet
bearing the inscription “My lofty pillar and rock of defence,” together
with an image of Buddha, a sandalwood sceptre inlaid with jade, a dragon
robe, ten rolls of “auspicious” silk, and ten of crape. At his farewell
audience the following interesting conversation took place:—
_Tzŭ Hsi._ When did you leave Tientsin?
_Tseng._ On the 23rd.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ Have the ringleaders in the massacre of foreigners
been executed yet?
_Tseng._ Not yet. The Consul told me that the Russian Minister
was coming to Tientsin and that the French Minister was sending
a deputy to witness the executions, so that the decapitations
could not be summarily carried out.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ What date has Li Hung-chang fixed for the executions?
_Tseng._ On the day of my departure, he sent me word that he
expected to dispose of them yesterday.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ Have the Tientsin populace calmed down?
_Tseng._ Yes, things are now quite settled and orderly.
_Tzŭ Hsi_. What made the Prefect and Magistrate run away to
Shun-Tê after the massacre?
_Tseng._ When first removed from their posts, they knew not
what sentence would be decreed against them, so they boldly and
shamelessly ran away from the city.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ Have you quite lost the sight of your right eye?
_Tseng._ Yes, it is quite blind; but I can still see with the
left.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ Have you entirely recovered from your other maladies?
_Tseng._ Yes, I think I can say that I have.
_Tzŭ Hsi_. You appear to kneel, and to rise from that posture
quite briskly and freely, as if your physique were still pretty
good?
_Tseng._ No; it is not what it used to be.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ That was a strange thing, the assassination of Ma
Hsin-yi (the late Viceroy of Nanking), was it not?
_Tseng._ Extraordinary.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ He was a first-rate administrator.
_Tseng._ Yes, he took great pains, and was honest and impartial.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ How many regular troops have you raised in Chihli?
_Tseng._ Three thousand. The former Viceroy had four thousand
men trained under the old system. I had intended to raise three
thousand more, making a total force of ten thousand. I have
arranged with Li Hung-chang to carry out this programme.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ It is of vital importance that we should have a
force of properly trained troops in the south. You must see to
this.
_Tseng._ Yes. At present peace prevails, but we must be
prepared for all possible emergencies. I propose to build forts
at several places on the Yangtsze.
_Tzŭ Hsi._ It would be a fine thing if we could secure
ourselves properly against invasion. These missionary
complications are perpetually creating trouble for us.
_Tseng._ That is true. Of late the missionaries have created
trouble everywhere. The native converts are given to oppressing
those who will not embrace Christianity (literally “_eat the
religion_”) and the missionaries always screen the converts,
while the Consuls protect the missionaries. Next year, when
the time comes for revising the French Treaty, we must take
particular pains to reconsider carefully the whole question of
religious propaganda.
In November Tseng had his farewell audience, and Tzŭ Hsi never saw him
again. A month later he took over the seals of office at his old post,
one of his first acts being to try the assassin of his predecessor, who
was condemned to death by the slicing process. In the following summer he
went for a cruise of inspection and visited various places of interest,
noting with satisfaction the complete restoration of law and order in
the districts which had been for so long the scene of the Taipings’
devastations. On one occasion, seeing the gaily decked “flower-boats” and
listening to the sounds of their revelries, he joyfully exclaimed: “I am
glad to have lived to see my province as it was before the rebellion.” In
December he moved into the Viceregal residence which he had known as the
Palace of the Taiping “Heavenly King.” But he was not long to administer
that high office, for in the early part of 1872 he had a first stroke of
paralysis. A few days later, going in his chair to meet a high official
arriving from Peking, and reciting, as was his wont, favourite passages
from the classics, he suddenly made a sign to his attendants, but speech
failed him and he could only mumble. In his diary that same evening, he
wrote:—“This illness of mine prevents me from attending to my work. In
the 26th and 27th years of Tao-Kuang (1846-7) I found that efforts at
poetical composition brought on attacks of eczema and insomnia. Now it
is different. I feel all dazed and confused. Spots float before my eyes
and my liver is disordered. Alas, that I can neither obtain a speedy
release, like the morning dew which swiftly passes away, nor hope for
the restoration of energies to enable me to perform my duty. What sadder
fate than thus to linger on, useless, in the world!” On the next day
he wrote:—“My strength is rapidly failing, and I must leave behind me
many unsettled questions and business half completed. The dead leaves
of disappointed hopes fill all the landscape, and I see no prospect of
settling my affairs. Thirty years have passed since I took my degree, and
I have attained to the highest rank; yet have I learned nothing, and my
character still lacks true solidity. What shame should be mine at having
reached thus uselessly old age!” Next day, while reading a despatch, he
had another stroke. Rallying, he told his eldest son, Tseng Chi-tsê,
to see to it that his funeral ceremonies were conducted after the old
usages, and that neither Buddhist nor Taoist priests be permitted to
chant their liturgies over his corpse. On the following morning, though
very weak, he insisted on perusing one of the essays which had been
successful at the provincial examination. In the evening he was taken
out into his garden and was returning thence with his son when the last
seizure occurred. They carried him into the great Hall of audience, where
he sat upright, as if presiding at a meeting of Council, and thus passed
away, well stricken in age, though only sixty-two by the calendar. “Every
man in Nanking,” says the writer of this narrative, “felt as if he had
lost a parent; it was rumoured that a shooting star had fallen in the
city at the very moment of his death. The news was received by the Throne
with profound grief. All Court functions were suspended for three days.”
The Empress Dowager issued a Decree praising her faithful servant in
unmeasured terms of gratitude and esteem, describing him as the “very
backbone of the Throne,” reciting his glorious achievements and ordering
the erection of Temples in his honour in all the provinces that had been
the scene of his campaign against the Taipings, in order “to prove our
sincere affection for this good and loyal man.”
VI
TZŬ HSI AND THE EUNUCHS
One of the facts upon which modern Chinese historians, Censors, Imperial
Tutors and Guardians of the Heir Apparent have repeatedly laid stress,
is that the Ming Dynasty became effeminate, then degenerate, and was
eventually lost, because of the demoralising influence of the eunuch
system on the Court and its official entourage. Upon this text, moral
exhortations in the best classical manner have been addressed to the
Throne for centuries, regardless of the consideration that most of the
writers owed their positions, and hoped to owe further advancement,
to the eunuchs, who had the sovereign’s ear. These Memorials were
usually only a part of the hoary fabric of pious platitudes and
shadowy shibboleths which loom so large in the stock in trade of
China’s bureaucracy (in which matter China stands not alone), and the
Empress Dowager, under whose rule the evil grew and assumed monstrous
proportions, was ever wont to play her part in this elaborate farce,
by solemnly approving the views of the bold critics and by professing
the greatest indignation at the misdeeds of her eunuch myrmidons and
retainers.
There have been, of course, sincere and eloquent critics of this
pernicious system and its attendant evils; in fact, scarcely a reformer
worthy of the name during the past fifty years has failed to place the
abolition of eunuchs in the front rank of the measures necessary to
bring China into line with the civilised Powers. There is no doubt that
one of the first causes of the _coup d’état_ in 1898 arose from the
hatred of the Chief Eunuch, Li Lien-ying, for the Emperor Kuang-Hsü (who
years before had ventured to have him beaten), and his not unnatural
apprehension that the Emperor intended to follow up his reforms of the
Peking Administration by devoting his attention to the Palace and to the
abolition of eunuchs. As to the Boxer rising, it has been clearly proved
that this notorious and powerful Chamberlain used all the weight of his
great influence with his Imperial mistress on behalf of the anti-foreign
movement, and that, if justice had been done (that is to say had he
not been protected by the Russian Legation), his should have been one
of the very first names on the Peace Protocol “Black List.” The part
which Li Lien-ying played in these two national crises of recent years
is mentioned here chiefly to emphasise the fact that the platitudinous
utterances of the orthodox express, as usual, a very real and widespread
grievance, and that the falsetto notes of the Censorate are answered by a
deep undertone of dissatisfaction and disgust throughout the provinces.
It is for this reason that, especially during the past five years,
progressive and patriotic Chinese officials (_e.g._ men like the Viceroy
Yüan Shih-k’ai and T’ang Shao-yi, who realise how greatly the persistence
of this barbarous medievalism lowers China in the eyes of the world),
as well as the unanimous voice of the vernacular Press, have urged that
the Court should now dispense with eunuchs, a measure which the Regent
is said to favour, but which—such is the power wielded by these “fawning
sycophants”—would undoubtedly be difficult and possibly dangerous. As
early as 1906, _The Times_ correspondent at Peking was discussing the
possibility of their early removal as one of the many reforms which then
shone so brightly on the horizon. In the Chinese conservative’s opinion,
however, which still weighs heavily in China, there are centuries of
precedents and arguments to be adduced in favour of a system which has
obtained continuously since long before the beginning of the Christian
era, which coincides with the Chinese accepted ideas of polygamy, and
recognises the vital importance of legitimacy of succession in relation
to the national religion of ancestor worship. On the other hand, it is
true that in the golden days of the Sage Emperors at the beginning of the
Chou Dynasty, eunuchs had no place in the body politic. Later, during
the period of that Dynasty’s decay and the era of the feudal States,
Confucius refers with disapproval to their baneful influence, so that the
Sage’s authority may be adduced against them and their proceedings.
With the establishment of the present Dynasty at Peking (1644), the
Manchus took over, as conquerors, all the existing machinery and
_personnel_ of the Chinese Court, eunuchs included, but they lost no time
in restricting the latter’s activities and opportunities. At the first
audience held by the young Emperor Shun-Chih, the high officials, Manchu
and Chinese, united to protest against the recent high-handed proceedings
of the Court menials, declaring them to be “fit only to sweep floors,
and in no wise entitled to have access to the Monarch.” Regulations
were promptly introduced, which remain in force (on paper) to this day,
forbidding any eunuch to occupy any official position, or to hold any
honorific rank or title higher than a Button of the fourth class. More
important still, in view of the far-reaching conspiracy of the Chief
Eunuch, Wei Chung (whom the last of the Mings had beheaded), was the law
then introduced, which forbade any eunuch to leave the capital on any
pretext whatsoever. For the next two hundred years, thanks to the wise
rule and excellent traditions handed down by the two famous Emperors
K’ang-Hsi and Ch’ien-Lung, the Palace eunuchs were kept generally under
very strict discipline; but with the present century, when degeneration
had set in strongly under the dissolute monarch Hsien-Feng, and even
before the appearance of Yehonala on the scene, their evil influence had
again become paramount in the Forbidden City. With Tzŭ Hsi’s accession to
power, all the corruption, intrigues and barbarous proceedings, that had
characterised the last Mings, were gradually re-established and became
permanent features of her Court.
Of the power which the eunuchs exercised throughout the whole of Tzŭ
Hsi’s reign, there is no possible doubt: the abuses which they practised
under her protection, abuses flagrant and unconcealed, increased with
the passing years and her own growing indifference to criticism, until,
after 1898, her favourite and chief body-servant, Li Lien-ying did not
scruple to boast that he could make or mar the highest officials at his
pleasure and defy the Son of Heaven on his Throne. Of the countless
legends of debauchery in the Palace, of orgies devised for Tzŭ Hsi by
the Court eunuchs and actors, there is naturally nothing approaching
to direct evidence: the frequent denunciations by Censors and the
scurrilous writings of Cantonese and other lampooners, afford at best but
circumstantial proof. The writings of K’ang Yu-wei and his associates,
in particular, are clearly inspired by blind and unscrupulous hatred,
and so inaccurate in matters of common knowledge and history, that
one must perforce discount the value of their statements wherever the
Empress Dowager or Jung Lu are concerned. But common report in China, as
elsewhere, is usually based on some foundation of truth, and in Peking,
where the mass of the population has always been conspicuously loyal to
Tzŭ Hsi, there have never been two opinions as to the extravagance and
general profligacy of her Court and of the evils of the eunuch _régime_.
Nor is there room for doubt as to the deplorable effect exercised by
these vicious underlings on weak and undisciplined Emperors, rulers
of decadent instincts often encouraged in vicious practices to their
speedy undoing. That this was the fate of Tzŭ Hsi’s own son, the Emperor
T’ung-Chih, is well-known, nor is there any doubt that the deaths of
both Hsien-Feng and Kuang-Hsü were hastened, if not caused, by the
temptations to which they were exposed by their vicious environment.
The inner history of the Celestial Empire and the Manchu Dynasty during
the last seventy years is inextricably bound up with that of the Palace
eunuchs and their far-reaching intrigues. During the half century of Tzŭ
Hsi’s rule, the power behind the Throne (literally a power of darkness
in high places) was that of her favourite Chamberlains. Of these the
last, who has survived her, Li Lien-ying, is known by his nickname of
“Cobbler’s Wax Li” (P’i Hsiao Li)[17] from one end of the Empire to the
other as the chief “squeezer” and arch villain of many a Palace tragedy.
His influence over his Imperial mistress was indeed remarkable; on all
occasions, except State audiences, she was wont to treat him with an
affectionate familiarity, and to allow him a _sans-gêne_, to which no
courtier, nor any member of her own family (save perhaps Jung Lu) dared
ever aspire.
During the Court’s residence, and the Emperor’s illness, at Jehol in
1861, the young Yehonala had occasion to notice and to appreciate the
intelligence and willing service rendered by one of the eunuchs in
immediate attendance upon her; this servant, by name An Te-hai, became
her faithful henchman throughout the crisis of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy,
and her intermediary and confidant in her dealings with the young
guardsman, Jung Lu. Upon her accession to the Co-Regency, he became her
favourite attendant and emissary, and later her _âme damnée_, sharing in
all her ambitious hopes and plans, with no small advantage to himself,
while at the same time employing his undeniable talents to the diversion
of the young widow’s mind by the provision of the elaborate Court
pageants and theatrical entertainments which her soul loved. An Te-hai
was himself an actor of no mean ability and exceedingly handsome of his
person.
It was at this time, before the Regency was firmly established and while
yet the reverberating echoes of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy lingered in
Chihli, that the leading Censors began to send in Memorials against
the self-evident extravagance and the rumoured profligacy of Tzŭ
Hsi’s Palace. The young Yehonala, headstrong and already impatient of
criticism and restraint, confident also in the strength and loyalty of
her immediate following, never allowed these remonstrances to affect her
conduct in the slightest degree; nevertheless, a stickler always for
etiquette and appearances, and an adept at “face-saving” arts, she had no
objection to expressing the heartiest approval of, and agreement with,
her professional moralists. On more than one occasion, in those first
years, we find her proclaiming in most suitably worded Edicts, pious
intentions which were never intended to be taken seriously by anyone,
and never were. The following Decree, issued in the third year of the
Regency, (1864) is a case in point, and particularly interesting in that
it refers to the wholesale pilfering by eunuchs in the Palace, which has
continued without interruption to this day.
A Decree in the name of the two Empresses Regent, in the third year of
the Emperor T’ung-Chih:—
“The Censor Chia To memorialises, saying that it has come
to his knowledge that certain of the eunuchs who perform
theatricals in the Imperial Household, have had their costumes
made of tribute silks and satins taken from the Imperial
storehouses. He asserts that they perform daily before the
Throne and regularly receive largesse to the amount of
thousands of taels. He asks that these practices be forbidden
and discontinued forthwith, in order that all tendency towards
vicious courses may be checked.
“With reference to this Memorial, it should be stated that last
year, although the twenty-seven months of Imperial mourning
for the late monarch were drawing to their close, we issued a
Decree forbidding all festivities, for the reason that His
late Majesty’s remains had not yet been removed to their final
place of sepulture; at the same time we gave orders that the
seasonal tribute in kind, and provincial offerings, should be
forwarded, as usual, in order to provide eventually for the
costuming of the Palace theatricals, with reference to which
matter we intended to issue another Decree in due course,
upon the conclusion of the funeral ceremonies. We seized the
opportunity, in this same Edict, to abolish once and for all
the custom of bringing actors to the Palace to be made eunuchs,
holding it to be wise, while His Majesty is still a minor,
that everything that might tend in any way to lead him into
paths of extravagance and dissipation should be firmly nipped
in the bud. The Censor’s present Memorial has therefore filled
us with real amazement. At a time like this, when rebellions
are still raging, and our people are in sore distress, when
our treasuries are empty and our revenues insufficient for
the needs of Government, our hearts are heavy with sorrowful
thoughts, and must be so, especially as long as His late
Majesty’s remains have not yet been borne to their final
resting place. How then could we possibly permit such a state
of things as the Censor describes?[18] Furthermore, it is the
duty of the Comptroller of our Household to keep a complete
inventory of all bullion and silken stuffs in the Palace, none
of which can be touched without our express permission. Surely
this is sufficient to prove that all these rumours are utterly
devoid of foundation.
“Nevertheless, in our remote seclusion of the Palace, it is
inevitable that we should be kept in ignorance of much that
goes on, so that it is just possible there may be some ground
for these reports. It may be that certain evil-disposed
eunuchs have been committing irregularities beyond the Palace
precincts, and, if so, such conduct must be stopped at all
costs. We hereby command that drastic measures be taken to deal
with the offenders at once.
“It is imperatively necessary that the Emperor, in the
intervals of his studies, should have about his person only
honest and steady retainers, with whom he may converse on
the arts and practice of government. If his attendants are
evil men and make it their business to flatter his ears and
divert his eyes with luxurious and effeminate pastimes, the
result might well be to produce in His Majesty most undesirable
tendencies; and any fault in the Emperor, however trifling,
is liable to involve the State in far-reaching misfortunes.
We therefore hereby authorise the Ministers of our Household
to see to it that the Chief Eunuch enforces strict discipline
upon all his subordinates, and should any of them hereafter
venture to commit presumptuous acts, or to display their
overweening arrogance, they must at once be arrested by the
police and severely punished. And should such a case occur the
Chief Eunuch will also be dismissed for neglect of his duty of
supervision, and the Comptrollers of the Household will incur
our severe displeasure, with penalties. Let this Decree be
copied and preserved in the archives of the Household and the
Ante-Chambers.”
As everyone in the capital was well aware of Yehonala’s passion for the
theatre, this Decree was naturally regarded as so much “fine writing
on waste paper,” and it is noticeable that from this time until her
favourite and chief eunuch An Te-hai, came to his dramatic end, the
Censors continued to impeach her and to denounce the ever increasing
extravagance, which was already seriously disorganising the Metropolitan
Government’s finances and entailing fresh _corvées_ in the provinces.
In 1866, two courageous Censors memorialised on this subject, having
particularly in their minds the abuses caused by the unlawful proceedings
of An Te-hai.
“More care,” said they, “should be shown in the selection
of the Emperor’s body-servants. All the disasters that have
overtaken previous Dynasties have been directly due to the
machinations and evil influence of eunuchs. These creatures
worm their way into the confidence and even into the affection
of the Throne by their protestations of loyalty and faithful
service; they are past-masters in every art of adroit flattery.
Having once secured the Imperial favour and protection, they
proceed to attach to themselves troops of followers, and
gradually make for themselves a place of power that in time
becomes unassailable. We, your Memorialists, therefore beg
that this danger be now averted by the selection of well-bred
and trustworthy attendants to wait upon His Majesty. There
should not be about the Throne any young eunuchs of attractive
appearance, creatures who make it their aim to establish
influence over the Emperor and who would certainly turn it to
their own ends so soon as he assumes the control of affairs.”
In the Decree commenting on this Memorial, the Empresses Regent, in the
name of the Emperor, observe:—
“This Memorial is very much to the point. History is full of
instances where disaster has been brought about by eunuchs, and
the example afforded us by those rulers who have been corrupted
and undone by these ‘rats and foxes,’ should serve as timely
warning to ourselves. By the divine wisdom of our predecessors
on the Throne, not only have eunuchs been forbidden to meddle
in all business of State, but they have never been permitted
to gain the ear of the sovereign, or to influence him in any
way, so that, for the past two hundred years, eunuch influence
has been a thing of the past, and these fawning sycophants
have enjoyed no opportunity of practising their evil arts of
intrigue. Ever since their Majesties, the present Empresses
Dowager, assumed the Regency, they also have conformed strictly
to this House-law of our Dynasty, and have refused to allow
these artful minions undue access to their Presence. As we
peruse the present Memorial, we must admit that it evinces a
very clear perception of those dangers which may overtake the
State because of the undue influence of eunuchs. Our feelings,
while reading it, are like those of the man who ‘treading
upon the hoar-frost, realises that winter is at hand.’[19] We
therefore now command that if any of these noisome flatterers
are attempting to pervert the intelligence of the Throne, the
matter must be dealt with promptly, and we must be informed,
so that their fitting punishment may be secured. We desire that
all our attendants shall be of indisputable integrity and good
morals, so that the door may be firmly shut on all evil and
degrading tendencies.”
Thus, Tzŭ Hsi, in her best manner, “for the gallery.” But, “in the deep
seclusion of our Palace,” life went on as before, the merry round of
an Oriental Trianon, while the Chief Eunuch’s influence over the young
Empress became greater every day. It was common knowledge, and the gossip
of the tea-houses, that his lightest whim was law in the Forbidden City;
that Yehonala and he, dressed in fancy costumes from historical plays,
would make frequent excursions on the Palace lake; that he frequently
wore the Dragon robes sacred to the use of the sovereign, and that the
Empress had publicly presented him with the jade “ju-yi,” symbol of royal
power. Under these circumstances it was only natural, if not inevitable,
that unfounded rumours should be rife in exaggeration of the real facts,
and so we find it reported that An Te-hai was no eunuch, and again, that
Yehonala had been delivered of a son[20] of which he was the father; many
fantastic and moving tales were current of the licentious festivities of
the Court, of students masquerading as eunuchs and then being put out of
the way in the subterranean galleries of the Palace. Rumours and tales
of orgies; inventions no doubt, for the most part, yet inevitable in the
face of the notorious and undeniable corruption that had characterised
the Court and the seraglio under the dissolute Hsien-Feng, and justified,
if not confirmed, as time went on, by an irresistible consensus of
opinion in the capital, and by fully substantiated events in the Empress
Dowager’s career.
[Illustration: H.M. TZŬ HSI, WITH THE CONSORT (LUNG YÜ) AND PRINCIPAL
CONCUBINE (JEN FEI) OF H.M. KUANG-HSÜ, ACCOMPANIED BY COURT LADIES AND
EUNUCHS.]
Of these events, one, which had far-reaching results, was her violation
of the dynastic house-law which forbade eunuchs to leave the capital.
In 1869, being short of funds, and desiring to replenish her Privy Purse
without consulting Prince Kung or her colleague the Co-Regent, she
despatched her favourite An Te-hai on a special mission to Shantung,
where he was to collect tribute in her name.[21] By this time the Chief
Eunuch had incurred the bitter enmity of several of the Princes of the
Imperial Clan, and especially of Prince Kung, not only because of his
growing influence over Tzŭ Hsi, but because of his insolent bearing to
all at Court. On one occasion the Empress had curtly sent word to Prince
Kung that she could not grant him audience because she was busy talking
to the eunuch, an insult which the Prince never forgot and which cost the
favourite his life, besides leading to the disgrace of the Prince and
other consequences serious to the Empire.
The Chief Eunuch’s illegal mission to Shantung, and his outrageous
behaviour in that province, provided Prince Kung with a long-sought
opportunity not only of wreaking vengeance on him but of creating rivalry
and enmity between the Empresses Regent. The Governor of Shantung, an
able and courageous official named Ting Pao-chen, who had distinguished
himself in the Taiping rebellion, was highly incensed at the arrogant
eunuch’s assumption of Imperial authority, and being quite _au courant_
with the position of affairs in the Palace, he reported direct to Prince
Kung and asked for instructions. The Governor’s despatch reached the
Prince while Tzŭ Hsi was amusing herself with theatricals; without a
moment’s delay he sought audience of Tzŭ An, the Co-Regent Empress,
and, playing upon her vanity and weak disposition, induced her to sign
a Decree, which he drafted in her presence, ordering the eunuch’s
summary decapitation, the customary formality of a trial in Peking
being dispensed with. Tzŭ An, hard pressed as she was, gave her consent
reluctantly and with a clear presentiment of evil to come from the wrath
of her masterful colleague. “The Western Empress will assuredly kill me
for this,” she is reported to have said to the Prince, as she handed him
the sealed Decree, which Kung sent off post-haste by special courier.
The following is the text of this interesting document:—
“Ting Pao-chen reports that a eunuch has been creating
disturbances in the province of Shantung. According to the
Department Magistrate of Te Chou, a eunuch named An and his
followers passed through that place by way of the Imperial
Canal, in two dragon barges, with much display of pomp and
pageantry. He announced that he had come on an Imperial mission
to procure Dragon robes. His barges flew a black banner,
bearing in its centre the triple Imperial emblems of the Sun,
and there were also Dragon and Phœnix flags flying on both
sides of his vessels.[22] A goodly company of both sexes were
in attendance on this person; there were female musicians,
skilled in the use of string and wind instruments. The banks of
the Canal were lined with crowds of spectators, who witnessed
with amazement and admiration his progress. The 21st day of
last month happened to be this eunuch’s birthday, so he arrayed
himself in Dragon robes, and stood on the foredeck of his
barge, to receive the homage of his suite. The local Magistrate
was just about to order his arrest when the barges set sail and
proceeded southwards. The Governor adds that he has already
given orders for his immediate arrest.
“We are dumfoundered at this report. How can we hope ever
to purify the standard of morals in the Palace and frighten
evil-doers, unless we make an example of this insolent eunuch,
who has dared to leave Peking without our permission and
to commit these lawless deeds? The Governors of the three
provinces of Shantung, Honan and Kiangsu are ordered to seek
out and arrest the eunuch An, whom we had formerly honoured
with rank of the sixth grade and the decoration of the crow’s
feather. Upon his being duly identified by his companions,
let him be forthwith beheaded, without further formalities,
no attention is to be paid to any crafty explanations which
he may attempt to make. The Governors concerned will be held
responsible in the event of failure to effect his arrest.”
Tzŭ Hsi remained for some time in blissful ignorance of her favourite’s
danger, and even of his death. No doubt the Chief Eunuch’s great
unpopularity enabled Prince Kung and the Empress Tzŭ An to keep the
matter secret until the offender was past helping. Ten days later, Tzŭ An
issued a second Decree, extracted from her like the first by Prince Kung,
in which the eunuch’s execution is recorded, as follows:—
“Ting Pao-chen now reports that the eunuch An was arrested in
the T’ai An prefecture and has been summarily beheaded. Our
dynasty’s house-law is most strict in regard to the proper
discipline of eunuchs, and provides severe punishment for
any offences which they may commit. They have always been
sternly forbidden to make expeditions to the provinces, or
to create trouble. Nevertheless, An Te-hai actually had the
brazen effrontery to violate this law, and for his crimes his
execution is only a fitting reward. In future, let all eunuchs
take warning by his example; should we have further cause to
complain, the chief eunuchs of the several departments of the
Household, will be punished as well as the actual offender.
Any eunuch who may hereafter pretend that he has been sent on
Imperial business to the provinces shall be cast into chains at
once, and sent to Peking for punishment.”
This Decree has a half-hearted ring, as if some of the conspirators’ fear
of the coming wrath of Yehonala had crept into it. Very different in
wording are the Edicts in which Tzŭ Hsi condemns an offender to death.
We miss her trenchant style, that “strength of the pen” which was the
secret of much of her power.
Simultaneously with the death of An, in Shantung, several eunuchs of his
following were put to death by strangling; six others escaped from the
police, of whom five were recaptured and executed. The Chief Eunuch’s
family were sent as slaves to the frontier guards in the north-west.
Several days after the execution of Tzŭ Hsi’s favourite, the eunuch who
had escaped made his way back to Peking, and sent word to the Empress
through Li Lien-ying, another of her confidential attendants. At first
she could scarcely believe that her timorous and self-effacing colleague
could have dared to sign these Decrees on her own responsibility and
in secret, no matter what amount of pressure might have been brought
to bear upon her. When she realised what had occurred, the Palace
witnessed one of those outbursts of torrential rage with which it was to
become familiar in years to come. Swiftly making her way to the “Palace
of Benevolent Peace,” the residence of her Co-Regent, she wrathfully
demanded an explanation. Tzŭ An, terrified, endeavoured to put the whole
blame upon Prince Kung; but the plea did not serve her, and Tzŭ Hsi,
after a fierce quarrel, left, vowing vengeance on them both. This event
marked a turning point in the career of Yehonala, who, until then, had
maintained amicable relations with her less strong-minded colleague,
and all the appearances of equality in the Co-Regency. Henceforward she
devoted more time and closer attention to affairs of State, consolidating
her position and power with a clear determination to prevent any further
interference with her supreme authority. From this time forward she
definitely assumes the first place as ruler of China, relegating her
colleague completely to the background.
When, on the morning after the storm, Prince Kung appeared in the
Audience Hall, Tzŭ sternly rebuked him, threatening him with dismissal
and the forfeiture of his titles. For the time being, however, she
allowed him to go unpunished, but she never forgave the offence, and
she took her revenge in due season: he suffered the effects of her
resentment as long as he lived. Her first act was to pass over his son,
the rightful heir to the Throne, upon the death of T’ung-Chih. It is true
that in after years she permitted him to hold high office, but this was,
firstly, because she could not afford to dispense with his services, and,
secondly, because of her genuine affection for his daughter, whom she had
adopted as her own child.
An Te-hai was succeeded in the post of Chief Eunuch and confidential
attendant on her Majesty by Li Lien-ying, of whom mention has already
been made. For the next forty years this Palace servant was destined to
play a leading part in the government of China, to hold in his supple
hands the lives and deaths of thousands, to make and unmake the highest
officials of the Empire, and to levy rich tribute on the eighteen
provinces. As a youth of sixteen, when he “left the family”[23] (as
the Chinese euphemistically describe the making of a eunuch), Li was
remarkable for his handsome appearance and good manners, advantages which
never failed to carry weight with Tzŭ Hsi. It is recorded on trustworthy
authority that at an early stage in his career he had so ingratiated
himself with Her Majesty that he was permitted unusual liberties,
remaining seated in her presence, aye, even on the Throne itself. In the
privacy of her apartments he was allowed to discuss whatever subjects he
chose, without being spoken to, and as years passed and his familiarity
with the Old Buddha increased, he became her regular and authoritative
adviser on all important State business. In later years, when speaking
of Her Majesty to outsiders, even to high officials, he would use the
familiar pronoun “_Tsa-men_” meaning “we two,” which is usually reserved
for blood relations or persons on a footing of familiar equality, and he
was currently known among his followers by the almost sacrilegious title
of “Lord of nine thousand years,” the Emperor being Lord of ten thousand.
Only on solemn State occasions did he observe the etiquette prescribed
for his class and a modest demeanour.
Corrupt, avaricious, vindictive, and fiercely cruel to his enemies and
rivals, it must be said in Li’s favour that he was, at least, wholly
devoted and faithful to his Imperial mistress, and that at times of
peril he never failed to exert himself to the utmost for her comfort and
protection. He possessed moreover, other good qualities which appealed
not only to Tzŭ Hsi but to many of the high Manchu officials, who did not
consider it beneath their pride to throng for admission at his private
residence. He was cheerful, fond of a joke, an excellent actor[24] and
_raconteur_, and a generous host: above all, he was passing rich. At
the Empress Dowager’s funeral, in November 1909, this aged retainer
presented a pathetic and almost venerable spectacle, enough to make
one forget for a moment the accumulated horrors of his seventy years
of wickedness. Smitten with age and sickness, he could scarcely totter
the short distance which the _cortège_ had to make on foot; but of all
that vast throng of officials and Palace servants, he alone showed
unmistakable signs of deep and genuine grief. Watching the intelligent
features of this maker of secret history, one could not but wonder what
thoughts were passing through that subtle brain, as he shuffled past the
Pavilion of the Diplomatic Body, escorting for the last time his great
mistress,—the close confidant, not to say comrade, of all those long and
eventful years. For half a century he had served her with unremitting
zeal and fidelity, no small thing in a country when the allegiance of
servants is so commonly bought and sold. In his youth it was he who
walked and ran beside her chair as body servant; through what scenes of
splendour and squalor had they both passed since then, and now he was
left alone, surrounded by new faces and confronted by imminent peril of
change. Yet in spite of his long life and the enervating influences of
his profession, the old man’s powerful physique was by no means exhausted.
Too wise to follow in the footsteps of his unfortunate predecessor, Li
never made raids on his own account into the provinces, nor did he ever
attempt to gain or claim high official rank, remaining prudently content
with the fourth class button, which is the highest grade to which eunuchs
may legally aspire. But, under the protection and with the full knowledge
of the Empress Dowager, he organised a regular system of _corvées_,
squeezes and _douceurs_, levied on every high official in the Empire,
the proceeds of which he frequently shared with the Old Buddha herself.
As shown in another place, the Empress and her Chief Eunuch practically
made common cause and a common purse in collecting “tribute” and squeezes
during the wanderings of the Court in exile after 1900. At that time
the Chief Eunuch, less fortunate than his mistress, had lost the whole
of his buried treasure in the capital. It had been “_cached_” in a safe
place, known only to his intimate subordinates, but one of these sold the
secret to the French troops, who raided the hoard, a rich booty. One of
Li’s first steps after the Court’s return was to obtain the Old Buddha’s
permission to have the traitor beheaded, which was done without undue
formalities. The Chief Eunuch’s fortune is estimated by Peking bankers
to-day at about two millions sterling, invested chiefly in pawn-shops and
money-changing establishments at the capital; this sum represents roughly
his share of the provincial tribute and squeezes on official appointments
for the last eight years, and the total is not surprising when we bear
in mind that the price of one official post has been known to bring him
in as much as three hundred and twenty thousand taels, or say forty
thousand pounds.
One of the secrets of his wealth was that he never despised the day of
small things. The following is the text of a letter in our possession (of
which we reproduce a facsimile), written by him to one of the regular
contractors of the Palace, with whom he must have had many similar
transactions. The paper on which it is written is of the commonest,
and the visiting card which, as usual, accompanies it, is that of an
unpretentious business man; the style of the writer is terse and to the
point:—
“To my worthy friend, Mr. Wang, the Seventh (of his family):—
“Since I last had the pleasure of seeing you, you have been
constantly in my thoughts. I wish you, with all respect, long
life and prosperity: thus will your days fulfil my best hopes
of you. And now I beg politely to tell you that I, your younger
brother,[25] am quite ashamed of the emptiness of my purse and
I therefore beg that you, good Sir, will be so good as to lend
me notes to the amount of fifteen hundred taels, which sum
kindly hand to the bearer of this letter. I look forward to a
day for our further conversation,
“Your younger brother,
“Li Lien-ying.”
As to the amount, Li knew exactly how much the contractors and furnishers
of the Palace should pay on every occasion, and that there was no need to
question the possibility of the “loan” not being forthcoming.
[Illustration: Facsimile of Letter written by Chief Eunuch Li Lien-ying.]
That he encouraged lavish expenditure at the Court is certain, and
scarcely a matter for wonder, but his control of finance extended far
beyond the Privy Purse, and wrought great harm to the Empire on more
than one historic occasion. For instance, China’s humiliating defeat
at the hands of Japan in 1894 was very largely due to his diversion of
vast sums of money from the Navy to the reconstruction and decoration
of the Summer Palace, a work from which he and his underlings profited
to no small extent. In 1885, Prince Ch’un had been appointed head of the
Admiralty Board, assisted by Prince Ch’ing, Li Hung-chang and the Marquis
Tseng. After the death of the Marquis, however (who had been a moving
spirit in the organisation of the Board), Naval affairs passed into the
control of a clique of young and inexperienced Princes, and when, in
1889, the Emperor assumed the direction of the Government, one of his
first acts was to order the re-building of the Summer Palace, which
Imperial residence had remained in ruins since its destruction by the
Allies in 1861. There being no funds available, Li advised that the Naval
appropriations should be devoted to this purpose, so that the Old Buddha
might be suitably provided with a residence; this was accordingly done,
and the Naval Department became a branch of the Imperial Household (Nei
Wu Fu) for all purposes of Government finance. When the war with Japan
broke out, the Empress Dowager issued orders that the Naval Department
should be abolished. This order evoked very general criticism, but, as
the Department and the Summer Palace rebuilding fund had come to be
treated as one and the same account, her Decree simply meant that as
the Palace restoration was now complete, and as the funds were quite
exhausted, the account in question might be considered closed. There
was obviously nothing to be gained by useless enquiries for money to be
transferred from the Palace to the Navy.
In 1889 the Chief Eunuch accompanied Prince Ch’un on his first tour of
inspection to the northern Naval ports, including the Naval bases of Port
Arthur and Weihaiwei. It was a matter of very general comment at the time
that the honours paid to the eunuch were noticeably greater than those
shown to the Prince. Every officer in the Peiyang squadron, from Admiral
Ting downwards, did his best to ingratiate himself with this powerful
Chamberlain, and to become enrolled on the list of his _protégés_, so
that he was _entouré_ with all manner of bribery and adulation. Many
critics, foreign and Chinese, have cast on Li Hung-chang the blame for
the disasters of the Japanese war, but they surely overlook the fact, to
which even the great Viceroy dared not openly refer, that nine-tenths
of the funds which should have gone to the upkeep and provisioning of
the Navy and the maintenance of the Coast Defences, had been diverted by
the Chief Eunuch to the Palace (and much of them to his own pocket), so
that the ships’ crews were disaffected, and their ordnance defective, in
the hour of need. Readers of Pepys will remember a very similar state
of affairs obtaining in the British Navy, happily without affecting
the _moral_ of its officers and men, at a similarly critical period of
British history.
Li Lien-ying’s hatred of the Emperor Kuang-Hsü was beyond doubt a most
important factor in the _coup d’état_, and in the subsequent estrangement
and hostility between Tzŭ Hsi and the nominal ruler of the Empire; there
are not lacking those who say that it had much to do with the Emperor’s
death, which certainly created no surprise in the capital. The eunuch
hated and feared the Emperor’s reforming zeal, as well as the Cantonese
advisers who in 1898 came swarming to Peking as the apostles of a new
dispensation, and it was therefore only natural that he should become the
foremost adviser and partisan of the reactionaries and their emissary
in urging the Empress to resume control of affairs. It is quite safe to
assert that had his great influence with Tzŭ Hsi been exercised against,
instead of for, the Boxers, had he abstained from encouraging her
superstitious belief in their magic arts, the anti-foreign movement would
never have gone further than the borders of Shantung, and the Chinese
people would have been spared the heavy burden of the indemnities. How
interesting a study of Asiatic politics and Court life presents itself
in the spectacle of this cobbler’s apprentice and his influence on the
destinies of so great a race! Seeing him as he was on the day of his
mistress’s burial, how bitter must have been the innermost thoughts of
the man, left alone on the brink of the grave with the ill-gotten wealth
that his country has paid for so heavily!
At the height of the Boxer crisis when the power wielded by Li Lien-ying
was enormous, it was the custom of Prince Tuan, when explaining his views
to the Empress Dowager and the Grand Council, to emphasise the fact that
no step had been taken except with the advice and approval of the Chief
Eunuch. “Such and such a Decree,” he would say, “is issued with the
chief Chamberlain Li’s approval.” His object in so doing was to head off
opposition, for he well knew that few would dare to oppose any measures
that the Chief Eunuch approved. When Her Majesty granted rewards to the
Boxers and offered head-money to the troops for the killing of Europeans,
it was at Li’s urgent request that she consented to defray these unusual
charges from her Privy Purse.
When the relieving forces drew near to Peking and it became clear, even
to the most obstinate, that the Boxer bolt was shot, the Chief Eunuch
passed through a period of deep depression and mortification, not only
because of the failure of his prophecies, but because it was clear to
all at Court that his Imperial mistress, seeking, as was her wont, a
scapegoat, was disposed to vent her wrath upon him. Herself deeply
stirred by fear and wrath, it was only natural that she should turn
on him, who had been foremost in advising her to follow the path of
destruction. On the day when the relief of the Legations took place, Duke
Lan rushed headlong into the Palace, loudly announcing that the foreign
devils were already within the city walls. Tzŭ Hsi turned on him and
asked how he could reconcile such a statement with his previous boasts.
“I presume that the devils have flown here,” said she, “for you were
telling me only two days ago of our glorious victories near Tientsin;
and yet all the time you knew well, as I knew, that the Viceroy and the
Li Ping-heng were both dead.” Li Lien-ying, who was standing close by,
hearing this, went out and informed the trembling crowd of eunuchs,
adding, “The Old Buddha is in an unspeakable rage. There is nothing for
it; we must make our escape and retire into Shensi. There we will await
the arrival of our reinforcements which will easily drive all these
devils back into the sea.” But the hardships and dangers of the flight
told even more severely on the chief eunuch than on the Old Buddha
herself, and it was not until the Court’s safe establishment at Hsi-an
that he recovered his self-possession.
Certain information conveyed by an official of the Household in exile to
a fellow provincial at Peking, throws considerable light on the manner in
which the Court lived during those troublous days, and the part played
in affairs of State by the chief eunuch and Tzŭ Hsi’s other favourites
of the Household. We take the following disconnected notes from this
correspondence.
When Ts’en Ch’un-hsüan (Governor of Shensi) came to meet the Court on the
Shansi frontier, the Old Buddha, raising the curtain of her sedan-chair,
looked out and said to him, “Have you any idea of what we have suffered
in Peking?” “I do not know all,” he replied. Pointing angrily at Li, she
said, “It was all his doing; he has brought ruin upon me.” The chief
eunuch hung his head, and for once had nothing to say. Later on, when the
fearless Ts’en saw the eunuchs under Li’s orders mercilessly harassing
the countryside in their search for plunder, he promptly reported matters
to the Empress and obtained her somewhat reluctant permission to execute
three of the offenders on the spot. He was sorely tempted to include the
chief eunuch in the number of his victims, but realising how greatly Her
Majesty depended upon her favourite attendant, he feared to run the risk
of inconveniencing and offending her. Nevertheless, Li had a narrow
escape. Later on, when Li had recovered his equanimity, and the Court
had settled down to its usual routine, the eunuch revenged himself on
the Governor, with the help of Jung Lu, by having him transferred to the
Governorship of Shansi. He did this, not only because the post in Shansi
was considered a dangerous one, owing to the fear of pursuit by the
Allies, but because Ts’en had gradually made himself most useful to Her
Majesty by superintending the expenditure of her Household. The Governor
was justly famous throughout the Empire for his incorruptible honesty,
so that, when placed in charge of the Palace accounts, these speedily
showed a very considerable reduction in expenditure. The first result
of this _régime_ was to put a stop to all the “squeeze” of the eunuchs,
and to place their salaries upon a definite and moderate basis. Ts’en
rapidly attained an intimate and confidential position with Her Majesty,
to the great and increasing wrath of the chief eunuch, who left no stone
unturned to injure him, and eventually succeeded, with the help of Jung
Lu, in inducing Her Majesty to dispense with his personal services. For
over a month, however, the Old Buddha spent hours daily discussing public
and private affairs with this fearless and upright official, and it would
have been well for her had she retained him and others of his quality
about her to counteract the corrupt tendencies of her Manchu clansmen and
the eunuchs. After Ts’en’s transfer to Shansi, the chief eunuch did not
scruple to suppress and destroy many of the memorials which as Governor
he addressed to the Old Buddha, and which Li did not desire his mistress
to see. Gradually he re-established himself as completely as before in
the confidence and favour of his mistress, and before the Court’s return
to Peking he had become if anything more familiarly arrogant than at any
previous stage in his career. At audiences given to the highest officials
he would even go so far as to refuse to transmit Her Majesty’s orders,
bluntly informing her that he was tired and that there had been enough
public business for that day!
The vast quantities of tribute levied by the Court from the Southern
Provinces at this time were handled in the first instance by Li
Lien-ying, whose apartments were stacked with heaps of dragon robes,
tribute silk and other valuables. Of all the tribute paid in bullion,
the Empress Dowager’s share was one-half, while the eunuchs divided
one-fifth, and the balance was handed over to Jung Lu for military
purposes and his own emolument. So profitable was the eunuchs’ business
at Hsi-an and Kai-feng, that Li Lien-ying did his utmost to dissuade the
Old Buddha from returning to Peking, endeavouring to frighten her by
alarming prognostications of the vengeance of the foreign Powers. Li’s
motives were not entirely mercenary, however, for there is no doubt that
for a long time he fully expected to find his own name on the “black
list” of the Legations, and that it fully deserved to figure there. He
directed the second eunuch, named Ts’ui, to communicate to him daily
the latest news from Peking, and it was only when reassured by reports
from Prince Ch’ing, that his courage returned, and his opposition to the
Court’s return ceased. The conciliatory attitude, which he eventually
adopted towards the Empress Dowager’s reform policy, was largely induced
by the good advice which he received from Jung Lu, who strongly urged him
to control his reactionary opinions and violent temper.
The amount of tribute paid in silver to the Court at Hsi-an was over
five million taels, the quota from each Province being kept separate.
The chief eunuch was assisted in the supervision of the tribute accounts
by another favourite of the Old Buddha, a eunuch named Sun, whose
covetousness and bullying methods of “squeeze” were almost equal to
those of his chief. On one occasion the deputy in charge of the tribute
from Hupei was paying in bullion to the Imperial Household, and Sun was
tallying the amounts with a steelyard. He said there was a shortage.
“That cannot be so,” said the deputy, “for every shoe of Hupei silver
weighs fifty taels exactly, so that there can be no mistake.” The
eunuch looked at him insolently, and said, “How many times have you
brought tribute, and what do you know about the customs of the Court?”
The frightened deputy persisted that all was in order. Sun then said
angrily: “I suppose, then, you mean that the Old Buddha’s scales are
false?” He was just proceeding to assault the unfortunate deputy, when
the Old Buddha herself, overhearing the argument (the court-yards of her
residence being very small) came out and directed the eunuch to bring
the silver into her own apartments, where she would weigh it herself. “I
believe there has been a great deal of leakage lately,” she said; “it is
the business of my eunuchs to see that I am not cheated.” The deputy took
his departure, looking extremely crestfallen, but on his way out he was
met by Chi Lu, the Controller of the Household, who said to him, “We all
know you have been having a bad time of it, but you must not mind. These
eunuchs have been making very little money of late, for the Old Buddha
has been keeping a very sharp watch on them; you must therefore excuse
them. And they have lost a great deal in Peking.”
Tribute of twenty-four kinds was received from Canton, but the eunuchs on
their own initiative, and in order to compel _largesse_, rejected nine
different kinds of articles, so that the official in charge was greatly
alarmed, fearing that the Old Buddha would accuse him of having stolen
the things which the eunuchs refused to receive. This was one of their
commonest methods of levying tribute on their own account; another was to
make large purchases in the name of the Empress, and refuse to pay for
them. Much hardship was inflicted on the people of Hsi-an, and indeed of
the entire province, from their depredations, especially because at the
time Shensi was already suffering from the beginnings of famine, caused
by the prolonged drought. It is recorded in the accounts of the Governor
Ts’en, that flour cost 96 cash a pound, eggs 34 cash apiece, and pork
400 cash a pound, while fish was almost unobtainable; these prices being
about six times as high as those ruling in southern China.
Many of the eunuchs appeared to take pleasure in humiliating the Emperor,
and subjecting him to petty annoyances, which often roused him to
petulant outbursts of temper. In one letter from the Court at Hsi-an it
was reported that His Majesty appeared to be a little wrong in the head,
for he would spend his time playing foolish games, such as hide-and-seek,
with the younger eunuchs, until interrupted by the Empress Dowager, when
he would immediately get into a corner and assume a sullen demeanour. At
other times, when irritated, he would give way to violent fits of rage
and throw the household crockery at the heads of his attendants. These
reports must be received with caution, as they were frequently spread
abroad by the chief eunuch and members of the reactionary party in order
to damage His Majesty in the eyes of the outside world.
As above stated, after the return of the Court from its journeying in
the wilderness (1902) Li’s influence with the Empress Dowager was, if
anything, greater than before, all the internal affairs of the Palace
being under his supreme control. Following Her Majesty’s example,
however, he professed his complete conversion to the necessity of reform,
and even gave his approval, after certain amendments had been made by
the Grand Council and by himself, to her programme for the granting of
a Constitution. Jesting with Her Majesty in his usual familiar manner,
he was heard on more than one occasion to predict her conversion to
Christianity. “We are only sham devils now, Old Buddha,” he said.
Nevertheless, and in spite of advancing years and infirmity, he has
clung, and still clings, tenaciously to the perquisites and privileges
of his stewardship, fiercely defending the eunuch system and his own
post by all the means (and they are many) in his power. When, in 1901,
T’ao Mo, late Viceroy of Canton, sent in his famous Memorial urging
that, in view of the greatly reduced number of the Imperial concubines,
the eunuchs should be replaced by female attendants, Li successfully
intrigued to prevent this document reaching Her Majesty until he had
taken effective steps to prevent her being advised in favour of the
suggestion. T’ao Mo’s Memorial was as follows:—
“The prosperity of the State depends absolutely upon the
virtue of the ruler. Where the sovereign surrounds himself
with wise and just men, the country must benefit; where he
chooses time-servers to advise him, rebellion and chaos will
be the inevitable result. If one human being be called upon to
attend to the multifarious duties of the State, in addition
to managing the internal affairs of the Palace, his position
may be glorious indeed, but the responsibilities thereof are
too great for any man to bear. Even a sovereign, surrounded by
men of the sternest integrity, might well pause and falter at
the dread chances of failure. But how can a nation possibly
escape dire misfortune when, between sovereign and subjects is
set up a barrier composed of men of the most contemptible and
degraded kind? These creatures are not necessarily all traitors
or notorious scoundrels; it is sufficient, for the undoing of
a sovereign, that he be surrounded at all hours by illiterate
persons, lacking in moral perception, who pander to his moods
and minister to his caprices. Even the worst Minister of State
has not the same opportunity of influencing his Emperor for
evil: but these eunuchs are for ever about and around him.
Intimacy with eunuchs necessarily brings about a sapping of
the moral fibre; any ruler exposed to their influences cannot
possibly keep in touch with his people.
“But if we wish to root out these influences, we must proceed
as if we were weeding out tares in a field. If we leave the
roots in the ground, they will sooner or later spring up again
to fresh life. Complete eradication is the only cure. His
Majesty is come of age and his character is daily developing;
how deeply he must deplore the fact that he is compelled
to associate with this class of men at a time when he is
doing his best to introduce a policy of reform! If previous
Dynasties employed eunuchs it was because of the large number
of concubines in the Palace, but his present Majesty’s harem
is small, and he might therefore preferably employ female
attendants to minister to his personal wants, while the
official duties of the Household might be discharged by men of
good birth and education. Why should it be necessary to employ
eunuchs for such posts?
“At the present time, the Court at Hsi-an employs an enormous
number of eunuchs; a favourable opportunity therefore presents
itself for reducing their number, retaining only some twenty
or thirty of the more respectable among them. Orders should be
given, after the Court’s return, that for the future no more
eunuchs shall be engaged, and the Palace administration should
be thoroughly reorganised. By this means, long-standing abuses
will be removed, and the glory of your Majesty’s reign will be
enhanced for all time.
“At this moment, many reforms are being projected, in regard to
which Your Majesties have received numerous suggestions from
many high officials. But in my opinion, this question of the
employment of eunuchs, though apparently of minor importance,
transcends all others, and the possibility of reform depends
largely on their removal. The system has been abolished in
all foreign countries and persists only in China. It exposes
us to much adverse criticism and contumely, and by abolishing
it we should gain the respect of civilised nations. As an
official holding a provincial post, I am prohibited by law from
criticising the administration of the Palace; nevertheless, I
hold it to be my duty at this juncture to offer my suggestions,
however humble and worthless, in token of my gratitude to Your
Majesties for your generous favours.”
Since that day, there have been repeated denunciations of the eunuch
system, and rumours of their impending removal, but their influence shows
little sign of diminution, and officials of the courage and integrity
of T’ao Mo are a small minority in the Mandarinate. Reform measures on
paper are numerous enough, measures forecasting self-denial and zeal
for the common good at some future and undetermined date, but it is
significant of the existing condition of affairs and the strong hold of
the powers of reaction, that the native Press has lately passed from its
former robust independence under complete official control, and that the
voice of Young China, which formerly denounced the eunuchs and other
causes of national degeneration, is but faintly heard in the land.
VII
A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE
The following secret Memorial, submitted by the Censor Wu K’o-tu, in
1873, casts no direct light on the life and character of the Empress
Dowager; it is of permanent interest nevertheless, and valuable, in that
it enables us to realise something of the unbounded arrogance of the
Chinese official class and the childish ignorance of that Court in which
Tzŭ Hsi lived and moved and had her being. Documents like these—their
number is legion for those who look for them—throw into strong relief
the futility of western diplomacy confronted by a national sentiment of
contempt for the barbarian so deep-rooted and far-reaching; and they
make one wonder at the persistence of those comfortable delusions,
those facile lines of least resistance, which the foreign Powers and
their Legations have cherished to this day in spite of many humiliating
experiences. And if, from the general, one returns to particular study
of the remarkable woman whose personality dominated the destinies of men
and the foreign relations of her country for half a century, the state of
affairs revealed by documents like these must compel unstinted admiration
for a mind so obviously superior to its environment. Finally, there lurks
in this Memorial a certain quality of (possibly unconscious) humour which
may justify its inclusion, in the nature of an _entremets_, at this stage
of our narrative:—
“_A Secret Memorial urging the Throne to put a stop to official
wrangling and to excuse the Ministers of foreign nations from
kneeling at audiences, in order that our magnanimity may be
proved and our prestige exalted. A prayer based, moreover, on
the fact that our demands in this matter cannot be successfully
pressed and that protracted discussion has so far resulted in a
hopeless deadlock._
“From the day when first the foreign Ministers asked to be
permitted to present their credentials, nearly six months ago,
our statesmen have discussed the question, without arriving at
any solution of its difficulties. First, they debated whether
the Ministers should be granted audience at all, and having
agreed upon this, they proceeded to discuss whether they should
be compelled to kneel.
“In discussing this matter with certain minor officials, it has
occurred to me to wonder wherein really lies the gravity of the
question sufficient to justify all this bother and excitement?
As Mencius remarks, ‘Why should the Superior Man engage in
altercation with birds and beasts?’
“I have heard, and believe, that the rulers of foreign nations
are deposed by their subjects for all the world like pawns on
a chess board. I have seen with my own eyes the foreigners
who live in Peking walking abroad, preceded by the females
of their household either on foot or in sedan chairs; the
men folk following meekly in their rear, like servants—all
unashamed. They have made some score of treaties with China,
containing at least ten thousand written characters. Is there
a word in any one of them concerning reverence for parents,
or the cultivation of virtue and respect for the nine canons
of rightful conduct? No! Is there one word in any one of them
as to the observance of ceremony, as to duty, integrity and
a proper sense of shame, the four cardinal principles of our
nation? Again, no! All that they speak of is material profit.
‘Such and such a clause implies benefits or profits for China.’
They think only of profit, and with the meretricious hope
of profit they beguile the Chinese people. These men know
not even the meaning of duty and ceremony, wisdom and good
faith, yet we profess, forsooth, to expect them to act as if
they were endowed with the five cardinal virtues! They know
not the meaning of the Heaven-ordained relationship between
Sovereign and Minister, between father and son, husband and
wife, elder and younger brother, friend and friend—yet we
propose to require them to conform to the five principles of
duty! It seems to me that one might as well bring together dogs
and horses, goats and pigs, in a public hall and compel these
creatures to perform the evolutions of the dance!
“If we insist upon their reverently kneeling, in what manner
will it increase the lustre of the Throne’s prestige? If we
excuse them from kneeling, how can this possibly affect the
Sovereign’s majesty?
“But our statesmen hold that long and careful deliberation
before assenting to the foreigners’ wishes in this matter will
cause the latter to say: ‘If so great pressure be required to
extract even this trifling concession from China, how small
must be our hopes of future success in dealing with great
matters.’ In this way, it is thought, we may cause their
everlasting demands on China to cease, and we should thus gain,
while they lose, prestige. But, in my humble opinion, our
nation’s prestige depends not on any foreigners’ estimate of
us, nor is their humiliation to be brought about in this way.
If once they perceive that we attach a real importance to their
kneeling at audience, and that we are loth to exempt them from
this ceremony, while at the same time they are fully aware that
we dare not go to war with them, they will simply insist the
more firmly on their demands and threaten us with war if we
fail to comply. Our weakness once exposed, they will stick at
nothing.
“I have heard that, in their despatches and treaties, the
puny hobgoblin or petty monsters whom they have the audacity
to call ‘Emperors’ are placed on a level of equality with His
Sacred Majesty! If our statesmen can brook an outrage like this
and feel no shame, why should they trouble themselves about
the foreign Envoys’ refusal to kneel? Two years ago, when the
Russian barbarians were pressing in upon China from Ili and
all the North-west, when they were seizing vast stretches of
our territory, and carrying out their policy of aggression on
a scale unparalleled in all the history of our relations with
barbarians; when their crafty and deep-laid plans threatened
the Empire with the gravest dangers—our statesmen showed
no sense of shame. But now, we are to believe that there is
humiliation to China in the Ministers’ unwillingness to kneel!
Our statesmen appear to imagine that if foreign nations decline
to comply with the formalities of Chinese etiquette, China will
thereby be disgraced, but in my humble opinion, compliance on
their part would jeopardise our country. From ancient times
immemorial the policy of the Government has been guided by
two main factors, viz., the exigencies of the moment and the
amount of force available to carry out a given line of action.
At the present moment China’s position does not justify her in
contending for this point and our national forces are quite
inadequate to impose our will upon any other nation. China
should therefore seek to develop efficiency and in the meantime
resort to compromises.
“A disciple of Confucius once asked the Sage in what lay the
art of government. The Master replied that the three first
requisites were, a sufficiency of food, a sufficiency of
troops and the confidence of the people. The disciple then
asked which of these three could be dispensed with, in case of
urgent necessity? Confucius replied, ‘Dispense first with the
troops and next with the food supply.’ From this we may learn
that the Sage, aiming at perfection in the art of government,
would approve of no rash or ill-considered action in deciding
a matter of this kind. A clear course of action should be
definitely pre-arranged by careful thought; there should be
no question of any hasty or immature decision, calculated
only to involve the country in difficulties. Our statesmen
ought, in the first instance, to have examined this Audience
question in all its bearings, weighing carefully the issues
involved, and should have considered whether, in view of the
relative strength of China and foreign nations, resistance was
advisable. If China were not well aware of her own weakness,
she would insist upon her rights, and without weighing the
relative importance in each case; but as, in the present
instance, she does not feel strong enough to insist, the
Ministers should have been told at once that the Throne would
waive the question of their kneeling at audience, and that His
Majesty would dispense in their case with the formalities and
ceremonies required by the etiquette of the Chinese Court.
By so doing we should have avoided the outward and visible
manifestations of weakness, and foreigners would have been led
to perceive how small is the importance we attach to them as
individuals. Would not this be an example of enlightenment and
statesmanship to impress Chinese and barbarians alike?
“But no; we must needs begin by raising objections to receiving
the foreign Envoys, and then, having been compelled to yield
this point, we proceeded to require them to kneel at audience.
The only possible result of this will be that we shall finally
have to yield to their protest; but our acquiescence will
perforce be performed with bad grace and with every appearance
of an act performed under compulsion. It was precisely in this
way that we blundered when we made the Treaty of Tientsin. I am
convinced that the Throne’s position will be an unenviable one
if the views of these statesmen be adopted, and would suggest
as a solution of the difficulty, that His Majesty should decide
for himself, and inform his Councillors that the question is
really one of minor importance. The foreign Ministers are
not Chinese subjects; why, then, should they conform to a
Chinese ceremony? If they were to do so, and if the ceremonial
were slovenly or awkwardly performed, might it not become a
burlesque? And if the foreign Ministers were thus made to look
ridiculous, would not China be violating the principle which
lays down that we must ‘treat strangers from afar with courtesy
and consideration’? If it should happen—as well might be—that
the spectators should be unable to control their mirth at so
ridiculous a spectacle, might not the humiliation felt by the
foreigners at their discomfiture, and their consequent rage,
lead them to declare war against China? It seems, therefore,
advisable that the Throne should issue a Decree excusing the
Envoys from performing the ceremonies of our Court, and, in
the event of their ignorantly offending against any of the
rules of etiquette, that we should exercise a wise forbearance.
Our statesmen should refrain from querulous arguments; they
should bear in mind that to dispute with these foreigners is
unworthy of us. In this they will display the perfection of
magnanimity. At the same time it should be carefully explained
that this Decree is an act of clemency, of the Emperor’s own
initiative, and contrary to the advice of his Ministers. It
must not serve as a precedent by reason of which foreigners may
be led to demand other concessions from China, or to coerce
her in other directions. By these means we shall preserve our
self-respect, and at the same time prevent all possibility of
our people attempting reprisals against foreigners, to avenge
what they might regard as an insult to China. And for the rest,
let us proceed to develop our strength, biding our time.
“One word only would I add, of warning. It is possible that the
audacious and treacherous foreigners may endeavour to address
His Majesty at audience. Our statesmen should be prepared in
advance with the proper reply to make in such a case, so that
they may avoid being put to sudden confusion.
“I, the writer of this worthless Memorial, am but an ignorant
inhabitant of a wild and remote district, and know nothing
of affairs of State. Greatly daring and of rash utterance, I
present this my Memorial, knowing the while that in so doing I
risk the penalty of death.”
To this Memorial the following Rescript was issued by the Empresses
Dowager:—
“We have perused this Memorial and find it not lacking in
point. The foreign Ministers are hereby permitted to appear
at Audience and to act thereat in accordance with their own
national Court ceremonies. Thus the Throne will display its
benevolent indulgence to the strangers from afar and make a
proper distinction between Chinese and barbarians.”
It is worthy of note that the author of the Memorial was the same upright
and fearless Censor, Wu K’o-tu, whose name became a household word upon
his committing suicide at the grave of T’ung-Chih, as an act of protest
against the illegality of the succession ordained by Tzŭ Hsi. If such
were (and are) the views held by China’s bravest and best, can we wonder
at the absurdities that have led the ignorant masses to sudden uprisings
and deeds of violence against the foreigners? Wu K’o-tu’s trenchant scorn
of the sordid commercialism that marks the foreigners’ Treaties, is
typical of the attitude of the orthodox Chinese scholar.
VIII
MAJORITY AND DEATH OF THE EMPEROR T’UNG-CHIH
In the eleventh year of T’ung-Chih (November 1872) the Empresses Dowager,
as Co-Regents, issued a Decree, recounting the circumstances which had
led to the Regency (which they once more described as having been thrust
upon them), and announced the fact that His Majesty’s education having
been completed, they now proposed to hand over to him the reigns of
government; they therefore directed that the Court of Astronomers should
select an auspicious day upon which His Majesty should assume control.
The astrologers and soothsayers having announced that the 26th day of
the 1st Moon was of fortunate omen (wherein, as far as the Emperor was
concerned, they lied), the Co-Regents issued on that day the last Decree
of their first Regency, which is worth reproducing:—
“His Majesty assumes to-day the control of the Government, and
our joy at this auspicious event is in some degree blended
with feelings of anxiety as to the possible results of this
change; but we bear in mind the fact that his sacred Ancestors
have all feared the Almighty, and endeavoured to follow in the
sacred traditions of their predecessors. At the moment, peace
has not been completely restored throughout the Empire, for
rebellion is still rife in Yünnan, Shensi and the North-West
region. It behoves the Emperor to bear steadily in mind the
greatness of the task which God and his ancestors have laid
upon him alone, and carefully to obey the House laws of the
Dynasty in all things. When not actually engaged on business of
State, he should employ his time in studying the classics and
the precedents of history, carefully enquiring into the causes
which have produced good or bad government, from the earliest
times down to the present day. He should be thrifty and
diligent, endeavouring to make perfect his government. This has
been our one constant endeavour since we took upon ourselves
the Regency, the one ideal that has been steadily before our
eyes.”
The Decree concludes with the usual exhortation to the Grand Council and
the high officers of the Provincial administration, to serve the Throne
with zeal and loyalty.
As far as the Emperor was concerned, these admirable sentiments appeared
to have little or no effect, for his conduct from the outset was
undutiful, not to say disrespectful, to his mother. Nor was this to be
wondered at, when we remember that since his early boyhood he had shown
a marked preference for the Empress Dowager of the East (Tzŭ An) and
that he was well aware of the many dissensions and intrigues rife in the
Palace generally, and particularly between the Co-Regents. He had now
attained his seventeenth year, and, with it, something of the autocratic
and imperious nature of his august parent. He was encouraged in his
independent attitude by the wife whom Tzŭ Hsi had chosen for him, the
virtuous A-lu-te. This lady was of patrician origin, being a daughter of
the assistant Imperial tutor, Ch’ung Ch’i. In the first flush of supreme
authority, the boy Emperor and his young wife would appear to have
completely ignored the danger of their position, but they were speedily
to learn by bitter experience that Tzŭ Hsi was not to be opposed, and
that to live peacefully with her in the Palace was an end that could
only be attained by complete submission to her will. The first trouble
arose from the Emperor’s refusal to submit State documents for his
mother’s inspection, but there were soon other and more serious causes
of friction. But above and behind all lay the ominous fact that, in the
event of an heir being born to the Emperor, A-lu-te would from that day
become Empress mother, and in the event of the Emperor’s subsequent
decease, to her would belong by right the title of Empress Dowager,
so that, come what might, Tzŭ Hsi would be relegated to a position of
obscurity and insignificant authority. It is impossible to overlook this
fact in forming our opinion of subsequent events, and especially of the
motives which actuated the Empress Dowager when, after the death of
T’ung-Chih, she insisted on the election of another infant Emperor at all
costs and in violation of the sacred laws of Dynastic succession. Apart
from her inability to brook any form of opposition and her absolutely
unscrupulous methods for ridding herself of anything or anyone who stood
in the path of her ambition, no impartial estimate of her action at this
period can deny the fact that it was entirely to her interest that the
Emperor T’ung-Chih should not have an heir, and that his Consort should
follow him speedily, in the event of his “mounting the Dragon chariot,
and proceeding on the long journey,” All commentators agree that Tzŭ
Hsi encouraged the youthful Emperor’s tendencies to dissipated habits,
and that, when these had resulted in a serious illness, she allowed it
to wreck havoc with his delicate constitution, without providing him
with such medical assistance as might have been available. One of the
members of the Imperial Household, by name Kuei Ching,[26] deploring the
Emperor’s licentious habits and foreseeing his early death, took occasion
to urge that the deplorable influence exercised over him by disreputable
eunuchs should be removed, and that greater care should be taken of his
manners, morals and health. He even went so far, in his zeal, as to
decapitate several of the offending eunuchs, but in so doing he incurred
not only the displeasure of the Empress Dowager, but of the Emperor
himself, who desired neither criticism nor assistance from anyone around
him. The unfortunate Kuei Ching was therefore compelled to resign his
post, and to leave the Emperor to his fate. His colleagues, the Ministers
of the Household, Wen Hsi and Kuei Pao, men of a very different stamp,
and open partisans of the Empress Dowager, not only did nothing to
restrain the Emperor from his vicious courses, but actually encouraged
him, so that it became a matter of common knowledge and notorious in the
capital that they and the Emperor together were wont to consort with
all the evil characters in the worst localities of the Southern City.
It became cause for scandal in the Palace itself that His Majesty would
return from his orgies long after the hour fixed for the morning audience
with his high officers of State. He was mixed up in many a drunken
brawl and consorted with the lowest dregs of the Chinese city, so that
it was no matter for surprise when he contracted the germs of disease
which speedily led to his death. Already in 1873 it was apparent that
the Dragon Throne would soon be vacant. In December 1874, he contracted
smallpox and during his illness the Empresses Dowager were called upon to
assume control of the Government. Towards the end of the month, he issued
the following Decree.
“We have had the good fortune[27] this month to contract
smallpox, and their Majesties, the Empresses Dowager, have
shown the greatest possible tenderness in the care for our
person. They have also consented to peruse all Memorials and
State papers on our behalf, and to carry on the business of
the State, for which we are deeply grateful. We feel bound
to confer upon their Majesties additional titles of honour,
so as to make some return, however small, for their infinite
goodness.”
The Emperor’s enfeebled constitution was unable to resist the ravages of
his combined diseases, and his physical condition became in the highest
degree deplorable; at 8 P.M. on the 13th January 1875, in the presence
of the Empresses Dowager and some twenty Princes and Ministers of the
Household, he “ascended the Dragon” and was wafted on high. Amongst
those present at his death-bed were the Princes Kung and Ch’un, as well
as Tzŭ Hsi’s devoted henchman and admirer Jung Lu. After the Emperor’s
death, a Censor, bolder than his fellows, impeached the two Ministers of
the Household who had openly encouraged the Emperor in his dissipated
courses, and Tzŭ Hsi, having no further use for their services, dismissed
them from office. As further proof of her virtuous admiration for
faithful service and disinterested conduct, she invited Kuei Ching
to resume his appointment, praising his loyalty; but he declined the
invitation, having by this time formed his own opinion of the value of
virtue in Her Majesty’s service.
The Emperor having died without issue, all would have been plain and
meritorious sailing for Tzŭ Hsi and her retention of supreme power, had
it not been for the unpleasant fact, known to all the Court, that the
Emperor’s consort, A-lu-te, was _enceinte_ and therefore might confer an
heir on the deceased sovereign. In the event of a son being born, it was
clear that both A-lu-te and Tzŭ An would _ipso facto_ acquire authority
theoretically higher than her own, since her title of Empress Mother had
lapsed by the death of T’ung-Chih, and her original position was only
that of a secondary consort. As the mother of the Emperor, she had by
right occupied a predominant position during his minority, but this was
now ended. It was to her motherhood that she had owed the first claims to
power; now she had nothing but her own boundless ambition, courage and
intelligence to take the place of lawful claims and natural ties. With
the death of her son the Emperor, and the near prospect of A-lu-te’s
confinement, it was clear that her own position would require desperate
remedies, if her power was to remain undiminished.
Among the senior members of the Imperial Clan, many of whom were jealous
of the influence of the Yehonala branch, there was a strong movement
in favour of placing on the Throne a grandson of the eldest son of the
venerated Emperor Tao-Kuang, namely, the infant Prince P’u Lun, whose
claims were excellent, in so far as he was of a generation lower than the
deceased T’ung-Chih, but complicated by the fact that his father had been
adopted into the direct line from another branch. The Princes and nobles
who favoured this choice pointed out that the infant P’u Lun was almost
the only nominee who would satisfy the laws of succession and allow of
the proper sacrifices being performed to the spirit of the deceased
T’ung-Chih.[28]
Tzŭ Hsi, however, was too determined to retain her position and power
to allow any weight to attach to sentimental, religious, or other
considerations. If, in order to secure her objects, a violation of
the ancestral and House-laws were necessary, she was not the woman to
hesitate, and she trusted to her own intelligence and the servility
of her tools in the Censorate to put matters right, or, at least, to
overcome all opposition. At this period she was on bad terms with her
colleague and Co-Regent, whom she had never forgiven for her share in the
decapitation of her Chief Eunuch, An Te-hai; she hated and mistrusted
Prince Kung, and there is hardly a doubt that she had resolved to get
rid of the young Empress A-lu-te before the birth of her child. The
only member of the Imperial family with whom she was at this time on
intimate terms was her brother-in-law, Prince Ch’un, the seventh son of
the Emperor Tao-Kuang. This Prince, an able man, though dissolute in his
habits, had married her favourite sister, the younger Yehonala, and it
will, therefore, be readily understood that the reasons which actuated
her in deciding to place this Prince’s infant son upon the Throne were of
the very strongest. During his minority she would continue to rule the
Empire, and, should he live to come of age, her sister, the Emperor’s
mother, might be expected to exert her influence to keep him in the path
of dutiful obedience. Tzŭ Hsi’s objection to the son of Prince Kung was
partly due to the fact that she had never forgiven his father for his
share in the death of the eunuch, An Te-hai, and other offences, and
partly because the young Prince was now in his seventeenth year, and
would, therefore, almost immediately have assumed the Government in
his own person. Tzŭ Hsi was aware that, in that event, it would be in
accordance with tradition and the methods adopted by the stronger party
in the Forbidden City for ridding itself of inconvenient rivals and
conflicting authorities, that either she should be relegated to complete
obscurity here below, or forcibly assisted on the road to Heaven. It was
thus absolutely necessary for her to put a stop to this appointment, and,
as usual, she acted with prompt thoroughness, which speedily triumphed
over the disorganised efforts of her opponents. By adroit intrigues,
exercised chiefly through her favourite eunuch, she headed off any
attempt at co-operation between the supporters of Prince P’u Lun and
those of Prince Kung, while, with the aid of Jung Lu and the appearance
on the scene of a considerable force of Li Hung-chang’s Anhui troops, she
prepared the way for the success of her own plans; her preparations made,
she summoned a Council of the Clansmen and high officials, to elect and
appoint the new Emperor.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE YANG HSIN TIEN. (Palace of “Mind Nurture.”)
The Emperor T’ung-Chih used this Palace as his residence during the whole
of his reign.
_Photo, Ogawa, Tokio._]
This solemn conclave took place in the Palace of “Mind Nurture,” on the
western side of the Forbidden City, about a quarter of a mile distant
from the palace in which the Emperor T’ung-Chih had expired. In addition
to the Empresses Regent, those present numbered twenty-five in all,
including several Princes and Imperial Clansmen, the members of the Grand
Council, and several of the highest metropolitan officials; but of all
these, only five were Chinese. Prince Tsai Chih, the father of Prince P’u
Lun, was there, as well as Prince Kung, both representing the proposed
legitimate claims to the Throne. The approaches to the Palace were
thronged with eunuchs, and Tzŭ Hsi had taken care, with the assistance
of Jung Lu, that all the strategical points in the Forbidden City should
be held by troops on whose loyalty she could completely depend. Amongst
them were many of Jung Lu’s own Banner Corps, as well as detachments
chiefly composed of members and adherents of the Yehonala clan. By Tzŭ
Hsi’s express orders, the newly-widowed Empress A-lu-te was excluded from
the Council meeting, and remained dutifully weeping by the bedside of
her departed lord, who had already been arrayed in the ceremonial Dragon
robes.
In the Council Chamber Tzŭ Hsi and her colleague sat opposite to each
other on Thrones; all the officials present were on their knees.
Taking precedence as usual, and assuming as of right the _rôle_ of
chief speaker, Tzŭ Hsi began by remarking that no time must be lost in
selecting the new Emperor; it was not fitting that the Throne should
remain vacant on the assumption that an heir would be born to His late
Majesty. Prince Kung ventured to disagree with this opinion, expressing
the view that, as A-lu-te’s child would shortly be born, there should
be no difficulty in keeping back the news of the Emperor’s death for a
little while; the child, if a boy, could then rightly and fittingly be
placed on the Throne, while in the event of the posthumous child being
a daughter, there would still be time enough to make selection of the
Emperor’s successor. The Princes and Clansmen appeared to side with this
view, but Tzŭ Hsi brushed it aside, observing that there were still
rebellions unsuppressed in the south, and that if it were known that
the Throne was empty, the Dynasty might very well be overthrown. “When
the nest is destroyed, how many eggs will remain unbroken?” she asked.
The Grand Councillors and several senior statesmen, including the three
Chinese representatives from the south, expressed agreement with this
view, for they realised that, given conditions of unrest, the recently
active Taiping rebels might very easily renew the anti-Dynastic movement.
The Empress Dowager of the East then gave it as her opinion that
Prince Kung’s son should be chosen heir to the Throne; Prince Kung,
in accordance with the customary etiquette, kowtowed and professed
unwillingness that such honour should fall to his family, and suggested
that the youthful Prince P’u Lun should be elected. P’u Lun’s father in
turn pleaded the unworthiness of his offspring, not because he really
felt any qualms on the subject, but because custom necessitated this
self-denying attitude. “That has nothing to do with the case,” said Tzŭ
Hsi to the last speaker, “but as you are only the adopted son of Yi Wei”
(the eldest son of the Emperor Tao-Kuang) “what precedent can any of you
show for placing on the Throne the heir of an adopted son?” Prince Kung,
called upon to reply, hesitated, and suggested as a suitable precedent
the case of a Ming Emperor of the fifteenth century canonised as
Ying-Tsung. “That is a bad precedent,” replied the Empress, who had every
precedent of history at her finger ends. “The Emperor Ying-Tsung was not
really the son of his predecessor, but was palmed off on the Emperor
by one of the Imperial concubines. His reign was a period of disaster;
he was for a time in captivity under the Mongols and afterwards lived
in retirement at Peking for eight years while the Throne was occupied
by his brother.” Turning next to her colleague she said, “As for me, I
propose as heir to the Throne, Tsai Tien, the son of Yi Huan (Prince
Ch’un), and advise you all that we lose no time.” On hearing these words
Prince Kung turned to his brother and angrily remarked: “Is the right
of primogeniture[29] to be completely ignored?” “Let the matter then be
decided by taking a vote,” said Tzŭ Hsi, and her colleague offered no
objections. The result of the vote was that seven of the Princes, led by
Prince Ch’un, voted for Prince P’u Lun, and three for the son of Prince
Kung; the remainder of the Council voted solidly for Tzŭ Hsi’s nominee.
The voting was done openly and the result was entirely due to the strong
will and dominating personality of the woman whom all had for years
recognised as the real ruler of China. When the voting was concluded,
Tzŭ An, who was always more anxious for an amicable settlement than for
prolonged discussion, intimated her willingness to leave all further
arrangements in the hands of her colleague. It was now past nine o’clock,
a furious dust-storm was raging and the night was bitterly cold, but
Tzŭ Hsi, who never wasted time at moments of crisis, ordered a strong
detachment of Household troops to be sent to the residence of Prince
Ch’un in the Western City, and with it the Imperial yellow sedan chair
with eight bearers, to bring the boy Emperor to the Palace. At the same
time, to keep Prince Kung busy and out of harm’s way, she gave him charge
of the body of the dead Emperor, while she had the Palace surrounded and
strongly guarded by Jung Lu’s troops. It was in her careful attention to
details of this kind that lay her marked superiority to the vacillating
and unbusinesslike methods of those who opposed her, and it is this
Napoleonic characteristic of the woman which explains much of the success
that her own people frequently attributed to luck. Before midnight the
little Emperor had been duly installed in the Palace, weeping bitterly
upon his ill-omened coming to the Forbidden City. With him came his
mother (Tzŭ Hsi’s sister) and several nurses. The first event of his
reign, imposed upon him, like much future misery, by dynastic precedent,
was to be taken at once to the Hall where his deceased predecessor
was lying in State, and there to kowtow, as well as his tender years
permitted, before the departed ruler. A Decree was thereupon issued in
the names of the Empresses Dowager, who thus became once more Regents,
announcing, “that they were absolutely compelled to select Tsai Tien
for the Throne, and that he should become heir by adoption to his uncle
Hsien-Feng, but that, so soon as he should have begotten a son, the
Emperor T’ung-Chih would at once be provided with an heir.”
By this means the widowed Empress A-lu-te was completely passed over,
and the claims of her posthumous son ignored in advance. Once more Tzŭ
Hsi had gained an easy and complete victory. It was clear to those who
left the Council Chamber after the issue of this Decree, that neither the
young widowed Empress nor the unborn child of T’ung-Chih were likely to
give much more trouble.
For form’s sake, and in accordance with dynastic precedents, a Memorial
was submitted by all the Ministers and Princes of the Household, begging
their Majesties the Empresses to resume the Regency, who, on their part,
went through the farce of acceding graciously to this request, on the
time-honoured ground that during the Emperor’s minority there must be
some central authority to whom the officials of the Empire might look
for the necessary guidance. It was only fitting and proper, however,
that reluctance should be displayed, and Tzŭ Hsi’s reply to the Memorial
therefore observed that “the perusal of this Memorial has greatly
increased our grief and sorrowful recognition of the exigencies of the
times, for we had hoped that the Regency was merely a temporary measure
of unusual expediency. Be it known that so soon as the Emperor shall
have completed his education, we shall immediately hand over to him the
affairs of the Government.”
The infant Emperor was understood to express “dutiful thanks to their
Majesties for this virtuous act” and all the formalities of the tragic
comedy were thus completed. The Empress Dowager gave orders that the
repairs which had been begun at the Lake and Summer Palaces should now be
stopped, the reason given being that the Empresses Regent would have no
time nor desire for gaiety in the years to come; the real reason being,
however, that the death of the Emperor removed all necessity for their
Majesties leaving the Forbidden City.
Tzŭ Hsi’s success in forcing her wishes upon the Grand Council and
having her sister’s infant son appointed to the Imperial succession, in
opposition to the wishes of a powerful party and in violation of the
dynastic law, was entirely due to her energy and influence. The charm
of her personality, and the convincing directness of her methods were
more effective than all the forces of tradition. This fact, and her
triumph, become the more remarkable when we bear in mind that she had
been advised, and the Grand Council was aware, that the infant Emperor
suffered from physical weaknesses which, even at that date, rendered it
extremely unlikely that he would ever provide an heir to the Throne.
Those who criticised her selection, knowing this, would have been
therefore in a strong position had they not been lacking in courage
and decision, since it was clear, if the fact were admitted, that Her
Majesty’s only possible motive was personal ambition.
From that time until the death of the Emperor and her own, on the 14th
and 15th November 1908, the belief was widespread, and not infrequently
expressed, that the Emperor, whose reign began thus inauspiciously, would
not survive her, and there were many who predicted that his death would
occur before the time came for him to assume supreme control of the
Government. All foretold that Tzŭ Hsi would survive him, for the simple
reason that only thus could she hope to regulate once more the succession
and continue the Regency. The prophets of evil were wrong, as we know,
inasmuch as Kuang-Hsü was allowed his years of grace in control of
affairs, but we know also that after the _coup d’état_ it was only the
fear of an insurrection in the south that saved his life and prevented
the accession of a new boy Emperor.
The designation of the new reign was then ordered to be “Kuang-Hsü,”
meaning “glorious succession”; it was chosen to emphasise the fact
that the new Emperor was a direct lineal descendant of the last great
Manchu Emperor, Tao-Kuang, and to suggest the hope that the evil days
of Hsien-Feng and T’ung-Chih had come to an end. The next act of the
Empresses Regent was to confer an honorific title upon the late Emperor’s
widow; but the honour was not sufficient to prevent her from committing
suicide on the 27th of March as an act of protest at the grievous
wrong done to her, to the memory of her husband and to the claims of
his posthumous heir. This was the unofficial explanation current, but
opinions have always differed, and must continue to differ, as to the
truth of the suicide, there being many who, not unnaturally, accused
Tzŭ Hsi of putting an end to the unfortunate woman. Against this the
Empress’s advocates observe that, having succeeded in obtaining the
appointment of Kuang-Hsü to the Throne, and the matter being irrevocably
settled, there existed no further necessity for any act of violence:
but few, if any, suggest that had circumstances necessitated violent
measures they would not have been taken. The balance of evidence is
undoubtedly in the direction of foul play. But, however administered,
it is certain that the death of the Empress A-lu-te influenced public
opinion more profoundly than she could ever have done by living; as a
result, thousands of Memorials poured in from the Censorate and the
provinces, strongly protesting against the selection of the infant son
of Prince Ch’un for the Throne, as a violation of all ancestral custom
and the time-honoured laws of succession. It is significant that all
these protests were clearly directed against Tzŭ Hsi, her colleague’s
nonentity being practically and generally recognised. For a time Tzŭ
Hsi’s popularity (and therefore the position of the Yehonala clan) was
seriously affected, and when, four years later, the Censor, Wu K’o-tu,
committed suicide near T’ung-Chih’s grave to emphasise the seriousness of
the crime and to focus public attention on the matter, the Empress was
compelled to bow to the storm and to give a second and more solemn pledge
that the deceased Emperor should not permanently be left without heirs
to perform for him the sacrifices of ancestral worship. It will be seen
hereafter how she kept that pledge.
Prince Ch’un, in the capacity of father to the new Emperor, submitted
a Memorial asking leave to be permitted to resign his various offices,
because, as an official, he would be bound to kowtow to the Emperor,
and as a father he could not kowtow to his own son. In the course of
this Memorial, which reminds the reader unpleasantly of Mr. Pecksniff,
the Prince observes that when first informed of his son’s selection as
heir to the Dragon Throne, “he almost fainted and knew not what to do.
When borne to his home, his body was trembling and his heart palpitating
severely; like a madman, or one who walks in dreams, was he, so that
he incurred a serious recurrence of his liver trouble and the state of
his health became really a matter for anxiety. He would prefer that
the silent tomb should close forthwith over his remains rather than to
continue to draw the breath of life as the useless son of the Emperor
Tao-Kuang.”
The Empress Dowager, in reply, directed her faithful Ministers to devise
a careful compromise “based on the special requirements of the case,”
the result of which was that Prince Ch’un was permitted to resign his
offices and excused from attendance at all Court ceremonies involving
obeisance to the Emperor, but was retained in a sort of general capacity
as “adviser to the Empresses Regent” to serve when called upon. On the
birthdays of the Empresses Regent, he would be permitted to prostrate
himself before them in private, and not as a member of the Court in
attendance on the Emperor. His first class Princedom was made hereditary
for ever, and he was commanded to give the benefit of his experience
and sage counsel to his successor, Prince Tun, as officer commanding
the Manchu Field Force—an order which he must have obeyed, for the
Force in question became more and more notorious for its tatterdemalion
uselessness and the corruption of its commanders.
Remembering the institution of the first Regency, it will be noted how
faithfully history can be made to repeat itself in the Celestial Empire.
IX
THE PROTEST AND SUICIDE OF WU K’O-TU
Immediately after the death of T’ung-Chih’s young widow, the validity of
the Imperial succession and the violation of all traditions which Tzŭ
Hsi had committed, became a matter of grave concern to the conservative
and more conscientious supporters of the Dynasty. The first evidence
of dissatisfaction was contained in a Memorial submitted by a Manchu
sub-Chancellor of the Grand Secretariat who, while accepting the
situation as it stood in regard to the boy Emperor, Kuang-Hsü, stipulated
that safeguards or guarantees should be given by the Throne for the
eventual regulation of the succession and for the provision of heirs to
His orbate Majesty, T’ung-Chih. The Memorial was as follows:—
“The selection of an heir to the Throne is a matter resting
entirely with the Sovereign and beyond scope of interference or
criticism by any subject. But in cases where the arrangements
made necessitate modification in order to render them perfect,
a loyal subject is justified, if not compelled, to speak his
mind freely.
“The whole Empire looked forward to seeing our late Emperor
enjoy a long and prosperous reign, but he has passed away
without leaving any posterity. The selection of a successor
which your Majesties the Empresses Dowager have, in your
wisdom, decided upon is admirable no doubt, particularly since
you have promised that an heir shall eventually be provided for
His Majesty, T’ung-Chih. This proves that in regulating the
dynastic succession, you are proceeding precisely as if it
were a case of adoption from one family into another: you have
therefore wisely decided that not only shall a son be adopted
to the late Emperor, but that in due course his succession will
be carried on by a grandson in the direct line of generation,
so that His Majesty’s posterity may be established without a
break, and perpetuated without intermission for all time.
“The proposal in itself is excellent, but study of the Sung
Dynasty’s history has led me to view the matter with no small
apprehension. The founder of that Dynasty, the Emperor Chao
Kuang-yin (tenth century), following the directions of his
mother the Empress Dowager, made his brother heir to the Throne
instead of his son, it being understood that upon his brother’s
death the succession should revert to his son.[30] Subsequently
however, the brother, having come to the Throne, and having
listened to the evil suggestions of his Privy Councillors,
ignored the claims of his nephew, and placed his own son upon
the Throne. In that instance, obedience to the wishes of his
mother has brought down upon the Emperor Chao Kuang-yin the
undying censure of posterity. If the Empress, on that occasion,
had done her duty, and had caused unbreakable bonds to be given
assuring the reversion of the succession to the direct line,
no irregularities could possibly have occurred: the Decrees
would have been as immovable as the Sacred Mountain, and as
self-evident as the nine tripods of the Emperor Yü. It would
have been impossible for any misguided Councillors of State to
justify their unlawful interference with the rightful course of
succession.
“From all this we learn that the succession, although decided
in a moment, affects all posterity. Was it not, moreover,
by self-sacrifice and strong family affections[31] that
our Dynasty acquired the Empire: have we not for example
the records of each succeeding virtuous Emperor? We cannot
therefore entertain any doubt but that the present Emperor,
when he comes to have an heir, will forthwith make him son
by adoption to the late Emperor, so that the succession may
proceed along the direct line. No doubt this is the intention,
but, as history shows, there exists a danger that, with the
lapse of time, suggestions may be put forward similar to
those of the Privy Council nine centuries ago, which would
utterly frustrate the wise policy animating your Majesties the
Empresses Dowager, and leave no fixed principles for posterity
to follow. With your approval, therefore, we would ask that the
Princes and Ministers be now required to draw up and record an
unbreakable and unchangeable pledge as to the succession to the
Throne, which should be proclaimed for the information of all
your Majesties’ subjects.”
Tzŭ Hsi was becoming decidedly irritable on this subject of the
succession, and there can be little doubt that her own conscience and the
views of patriotic Memorialists came to much the same conclusion. The
Rescript which she issued on the present occasion was short, sharp, and
suggestive of temper:—
“We have already issued an absolutely clear Decree on this
subject,” she said, “providing for an heir to the late Emperor,
and the Decree has been published all over the Empire. The
Memorialist’s present request gives evidence of unspeakable
audacity and an inveterate habit of fault-finding, which has
greatly enraged us, so that we hereby convey to him a stern
rebuke.”
The Memorials and remonstrances of many high officials emphasised the
seriousness of this question of the legitimacy of the Imperial succession
to the nation at large, and its profound effect on the fundamental
principles of ancestor worship. Nevertheless, having delivered their
souls, the Mandarinate, led by the Peking Boards, were disposed to
acquiesce in the _fait accompli_; in any case, there was no sign of
organised opinion in opposition to the will of the Empress Dowager. The
irregularity was evidently serious, and Heaven would doubtless visit
the sins of the Throne, as usual, on the unoffending “stupid people”;
but the individualism and mutual suspicion that peculiarly distinguish
the Chinese official world, precluded all idea of concerted action or
remedial measures.
One official, however, had the full courage of his convictions, and, by
the time-honoured expedient of self-destruction, focussed the attention
of the nation on the gravity of the question, as no amount of fine
writing could have done. Resort to suicide by indignant patriots, as a
proof of their sincere distress, is a practice praised and justified
alike by historians in China and Japan, and there is no denying that, as
an argument against all forms of despotism, it has the crowning merit of
finality. It has, moreover, certain qualities of deliberate courage and
cultured philosophy that bring irresistibly to mind the Roman patrician
at his best, and which fully account for the distinction which such a
death confers amongst a people that loves its orthodoxies, as it loves
peace, undisturbed.
The name which will go down in Chinese history, as the defender of the
national and true faith in connection with the illegal succession of the
infant Emperor Kuang-Hsü, is that of the Censor, Wu K’o-tu, an upright
and fearless scholar of the best type. For the reasons stated in his
farewell Memorial, he waited four years after the death of the Emperor
T’ung-Chih, hoping against hope that the widespread dissatisfaction
of the _literati_ and officials would take definite form, and lead
the Empress Dowager to regulate the future succession, and to placate
the disinherited ghost of T’ung-Chih, by the issue of a new Decree.
Disappointed in this hope, he seized the classically correct occasion
of the late Emperor’s funeral (1879) to commit suicide near his grave,
taking care to leave behind him a swan-song which, as he knew, will live
long in the memory of scholars and officials throughout the Empire. His
death had the immediate effect of convincing Tzŭ Hsi of error. Realising
the strength of public opinion underlying the Censor’s protest, she
endeavoured at once to placate his accusing spirit by giving the pledges
for which he had pleaded, in regard to provision in the future of a
successor to T’ung-Chih. Nor was it on this occasion only that the death
of Wu K’o-tu influenced her actions and disturbed her superstitious mind.
In after years, and especially at the time of the flight to Hsi-an, she
recognised his influence, and the punishment of her misdeed, in the
disasters which had overtaken the Throne.
As an example of the principles of action, and the calm frame of mind
which are the fine flower of the Confucian system of philosophy, and,
therefore, worthy of our close and sympathetic study, we give the full
story of the death of this patriotic protestant, as well as a translation
of his Memorial.
His suicide took place in a small temple at Ma-shen ch’iao, close to
the mausoleum of T’ung-Chih. His minutely detailed instructions for
the disposal of his remains, with the least possible trouble to his
family and friends, bespeak the gentleman and the scholar. To the
priest in charge of the shrine, a “bad man,” he addressed the following
characteristic letter:—
“Priest Chou, be not afraid. I have no desire to bring evil
upon you. I was compelled to borrow the use of your plot of
hallowed ground, as a spot appropriate for the death of an
honest man. Inform now the Magistrate at once, and see that
the Memorial enclosed in my despatch box is forwarded without
delay. Buy for me a cheap coffin and have it painted black
inside. My clothes are all in order, only the leather soles
of my boots require to be cut off before you lay me in your
coffin. I have cut my finger slightly, which accounts for the
blood stains that you may notice. Twenty taels will be ample
for my coffin. I should not think that the Magistrate will need
to hold an inquest. Please have a coating of lacquer put on
the coffin, to fill up any cracks in the joints, and have it
nailed down, pending the Empresses’ decision as to my remains.
Then, buy a few feet of ground adjoining the late Emperor’s
tomb, and have me buried quickly.[32] There is no need for
me to be buried in my ancestral cemetery; any spot is a good
enough resting place for a loyal and honest man.
“You will find forty-five taels in my box, of which you
may keep the balance after paying for my coffin and burial
expenses. As to my watch, and the other articles on my person,
it is known at my home exactly what I brought here with me. You
must see to it that no one is permitted to insult my corpse,
and my son will be deeply grateful to you for performing these
last offices for me, in his place. You need not fear that the
Magistrate’s underlings will make trouble for you, but be
careful not to tamper with the box containing my Memorial to
the Empresses.
“You can cut my body down to-morrow morning, and then have it
placed in some cool and shady spot. Fearing that possibly you
might come in by accident and find me hanging, I have taken a
dose of opium, so as to make certain of death. If you should
dare to meddle with my private affairs, as you have been trying
to do these past few days, it will only lead to your being
mixed up in the case, which might bring you to grief.
“All I ask of you is that you notify the Magistrate at
once, and that you do not allow women and children to come
in and gaze upon my remains. There is nothing strange or
abnormal here; death had become an unavoidable duty. Those
who understand me, will pity; that is all. The last earnest
instructions of Wu K’o-tu.”
Next, to his son, he expressed his dying wishes in a letter which
embodies many of the Confucian scholar’s most cherished ideals and
beliefs, a document pathetic in its simple dignity, its pride of ancient
lineage and duty well done according to his lights.
“Chih-huan, my son, be not alarmed when you hear the news of
my death, and on no account allow your grief to disturb the
family. Your mother is old, your wife is young, and my poor
little grandchildren are but babies. Tell them that I am dead,
but bid them not to grieve over my suicide. Our family tree
goes back over five hundred years; for two centuries there have
been members of our clan among the Imperial concubines, and
for three hundred years we have devoted ourselves to husbandry
and scholarship. For eighteen generations our family has borne
a good name; I, who am now seventy years of age, can claim an
unsullied record, although as a lad I was somewhat given to
dissipation. No man can truthfully accuse me of having failed
to observe the main principles of duty, and it is for this
reason that my friends and former pupils have always sought my
services as a teacher of the Confucian doctrine. Quite recently
I declined the pressing invitation of the Grand Secretary, the
Marquis Tso Tsung-t’ang, who wished me to become tutor to his
family, because the date was at hand for His late Majesty’s
burial, and I desired quietly to await to-day’s event.
“Ever since, at the age of twenty-four, I took my M.A.
degree, I have been of prudent conduct, and have observed the
proprieties in official life. In the study of history I have
ever been deeply touched by examples of patriotism and loyalty
to the Sovereign, and the splendid lives of the ancients have
moved me, now to tears and again to exuberance of joy.
“Upon the death of the late Emperor, I had determined to
memorialise the Empresses Dowager, through the Censorate, and
had fully made up my mind to accept my fate for so doing; but
an old friend, to whom I showed the draft, begged me not to
forward it, not only because I had already been punished for
similar rashness on a former occasion, but because he said
some of its allusions to current events were not absolutely
accurate. Therefore I waited until to-day, but now I can wait
no longer. It is my wish to die, in order that the purpose of
my life may be fittingly accomplished and a lifetime of loyalty
consummated. My death is in no way due to the slanders which
have been circulated about me.
“When you receive this letter, come straightway to the Temple
of the Threefold Duties at the bridge of the God of Horses,
twelve miles to the east of Chi Chou and quite close to the
Imperial mausolea. There seek out the Taoist priest, Chou;
he knows my burial place, and I have asked him to buy me a
coffin and to have it painted black inside. My burial clothes
are all in order, but I have asked him to cut off the leather
soles from my boots.[33] He is to buy a certain small piece of
ground, close to the Imperial tomb, which is to be my grave.
This will be far better than having my remains taken to the
ancestral burial ground, and there is really no need for me
to rest there, as my younger brother already lies beside your
grandparents. He, you remember, committed suicide twenty years
ago at his house in Peking, because of private troubles, and
now I follow his example, because of disorder in the State.
People will say, no doubt, that our family burial ground is
become a place of evil omen, but pay no heed to them. No doubt
you will desire to take home my remains, but do not so. Take
instead my photograph, the one I had taken just before I left
Peking, and have an enlargement of it hung up in our family
hall. Thus shall you observe the old custom which preserves
relics of the departed. Why go to the expense and trouble of
transporting a coffin over a thousand miles?
“Even though it should happen that the Empresses should
cause dire penalties to be inflicted upon my corpse because
of my effrontery of language, you may be sure that in this
enlightened age, there is no possibility of my offences being
visited upon my wife and family. All you need do is to borrow
from our friends money enough to take you from Peking, and
after that, you must make the best of your way to our family
home, begging if necessary. On no account must you remain in
Peking, for by so doing you will only attract attention and
further endanger your father.[34]
“What I chiefly deprecate in you, my son, is your quick tongue;
you must really try to amend your ways in this respect and
endeavour to be less hasty. If people tell you that your
father was loyal, do not contradict them; if they say he was
an honest man, you should agree. Read carefully the advice
of Ma Yüan, the great General, to his nephew, and Wang Hou’s
admonitions to his sons.
“When your mother married me she had good prospects, as the
daughter of an old military family. Since her marriage she has
dutifully served my parents, and her reputation for filial
devotion is excellent. I regret that I was not destined to
bring her happiness and good fortune: she is old now, and you
alone are left to her. It is your duty to take her to our home
and minister to her old age.
“As regards the few poor acres of land left me by my father,
I feel that I cannot reasonably expect you to follow the
example of the ancient worthies and to surrender it all to your
brothers, but at least I ask that you should allow them to live
amicably with you. Your wife is a sensible woman—tell her from
me that the happiness of every household depends on the temper
of its womenfolk. I knew one woman who feigned death in order
to induce her husband to treat his brothers more kindly, but
this was a heroic act, far above the moral capacity of your
wife.
“As to the forty taels[35] which you will find on my person,
you will hand over to the Taoist priest, Chou, any balance
there may remain after he has paid for my coffin and burial
expenses. On arriving at Chi Chou, go at once and see the
Magistrate, to whom I have written; thence proceed to the
temple, where you must give them some extra money to compensate
them for all the trouble they have had. Thereafter return to
Peking, and there await the Empresses’ decision in regard to my
case.
“See to it that my small debts are all paid, that my life may
end in fitting and harmonious dignity. At a moment like this, I
am naturally agitated in mind. It is hard to foretell what the
decision of the Empresses may be, but at least my conscience
is clear, and what does anything else matter? For your own
personal safety, I do not think you need have any fear.
“Present my compliments to Chang Chih-tung: I only wish I
could have had more of the old time talks with him. Go also
to the Marquis Tso Tsung-t’ang. He has not treated me well of
late, but slanders poisoned his sympathy, at which I do not
wonder. The memory of his former kindnesses is precious to me,
and I know that he will never let you starve.
“Your wife, in giving birth to my grandchildren, has conferred
blessings upon me; you must never think of allowing her parents
to provide for you. Leave therefore at once for our family
home. There must be no delay about this. As to the Taoist
priest, it irks me to make use of people in this way. He is
a bad man; yet must we bear with him. Tell him that I regret
having put his temple to this purpose; he need only spend ten
taels on my coffin and a few taels more for the little plot of
ground to bury me in. I am a worthless official and deserve
nothing better than this.
“Why have I delayed so long? Because I did not wish to disturb
the Empresses with the news of my death at this critical time.
All the Decrees which have appeared since the Emperor Kuang-Hsü
came to the Throne have moved me greatly, and much have I
deplored my inability to serve Their Majesties better. In days
of old, loyal servants of the State were wont to commit suicide
as an act of remonstrance against the degeneracy of their
Sovereigns. Not for a moment are the Empresses to be compared
to monarchs like Ming Huang of the T’ang Dynasty, who deserted
his capital before the invader, or Li Tsung, of the Sungs,
whose foolishness led to the Mongol wars. Nevertheless my death
is due to the same principles as those which actuated those
faithful Councillors.
“Go home now, and teach your children to study. Do not open my
Memorial to the Empresses. It is sealed, and I have asked the
local Magistrate to forward it for presentation.”
His Memorial to the Throne was, in fact (as the letter to his son plainly
indicates), an indictment of the degeneracy of the ruler of the Empire;
incidentally, it throws much light on the orthodox point of view in
regard to the question of the Imperial succession. Its preamble sets
forth the object with which it was written, and in the hope of which
the writer died, namely, to induce the Empress Dowager to determine
the future succession, providing an heir to the Emperor T’ung-Chih, in
accordance with precedent and the laws of the Dynasty. The text of this
remarkable document is as follows:—
“I, your worthless servant, have heard that the fact of a
nation being well governed does not necessarily preclude all
possibility of anarchy, nor does a nation at peace dismiss
altogether from mind the chances of violent disturbance; should
anarchy and rebellion be regarded as possibilities too remote
to merit a thought, it were idle and superfluous to advise the
Sovereign of so perfect a State. To ask the Imperial wisdom to
see danger where no real peril exists would be simply inviting
evil omens.
“On a former occasion I, your guilty servant, wittingly
incurred danger of death or imprisonment, because, in the heat
of indignation, I dared to remonstrate with the Throne. At
that time the Princes and Ministers about your Throne asked
permission to subject me to a criminal enquiry, but His late
Majesty T’ung-Chih was pleased to spare me, so that I neither
suffered death by the headsman’s sword nor imprisonment, nor
did I run the risk of further exciting the Imperial wrath by
my evidence before a criminal court. Thrice have I deserved,
without receiving, the penalty of death. Without desiring my
forfeit life, it was granted me, so that my last few years have
been, as it were, a boon at the hands of His late Majesty.
“But on the 5th day of the 12th Moon of the 13th year of
T’ung-Chih the earth was rent and heaven itself was shaken by
the great catastrophe, and on that day their Majesties the
Empresses Dowager issued the following Decree: ‘The departed
Emperor has mounted the Dragon and is become a guest on high,
leaving no heir to the Throne. We are compelled to appoint
Tsai T’ien, son of Prince Ch’un, to be heir to His Majesty
Hsien-Feng, to enter on the great inheritance as the new
Emperor. When to him an heir shall be born, he shall become son
by adoption to the late Emperor T’ung-Chih.’
“I, your unworthy servant, wept bitterly as, reverently
kneeling, I read this Decree. I cannot but feel, after most
careful consideration, that the Empresses Dowager have doubly
erred in appointing an heir to the Emperor Hsien-Feng and not
to His late Majesty. For thus the new Emperor, being heir to
His Majesty Hsien-Feng, enters upon the great heritage not, as
he should, by mandate of His late Majesty T’ung-Chih, but by
mandate of the Empresses. Hence the future succession must, as
a matter of course, revert to the heir of the new Emperor, even
though there should be no explicit instructions to that effect.
But, as this Decree expressly ordains that this shall be so, it
follows that a precedent will be established, whereby the great
inheritance may pass by adoption.
“I, your unworthy servant, realise that it is no light matter
for a loyal subject to refer to the future death of a Sovereign
while that Sovereign is still alive, entitled to all his
reverence and devotion. But, for more than two centuries, the
ancestral tradition of our House-law has been observed that
the Throne shall pass from father to son, and this law should
be steadfastly maintained for ten thousand generations amongst
those of us who recognise a common descent. Moreover, Prince
Ch’un is a loyal statesman, justly revered by all as a virtuous
Prince. His Memorial has inspired every one of us with fresh
feelings of enthusiastic loyalty. His words are but the mirror
of his mind; how could any falseness find therein a place? When
I perused his Memorial, tears of joy irrepressible fell from
my eyes. If ever the Prince should learn of this my humble
Memorial, he may perchance be wroth at my perversity or pity my
folly; at all events he will never blame me for endeavouring to
stir up vain strife by my words.
“The new Emperor is of gentle disposition; from the Empress
Dowager he had received the ‘precious inheritance’ and
until his dying day he will naturally be of one mind with
the Empresses in this matter. But in the Palace there are
sycophants as well as honest men, and many conflicting
opinions. To take examples from history: at the beginning
of the Sung Dynasty, even that great and good man the Grand
Secretary Chao P’u, led the way in obeying the orders of the
Empress Dowager Tu. Again, under the Ming Dynasty, a venerable
servant of the State, the Grand Secretary Wang Chih, was
ashamed that it should be left to a barbarian like Huang Kung
(native of an aboriginal tribe in Kuangsi) to memorialise
urging the lawful Heir Apparent’s succession to the Emperor
Ching-T’ai, when no Chinese official dared to do so. If even
virtuous men could act thus, what need to enquire about
disloyal subjects? If such be the conduct of old servants, how
shall we blame upstarts? To set aside settled ordinances may
be bad, but how much worse is our case where no ordinances
exist? We should therefore seek if perchance we may find some
way out of this double error, whereby we may return to the
right way. I therefore beg that the Empresses may be pleased
to issue a second Decree explicitly stating that the great
inheritance shall hereafter revert to the adopted son of
His late Majesty T’ung-Chih, and that no Minister shall be
allowed to upset this Decree, even though the new Emperor be
blessed with a hundred sons. If, in this way, the succession
be rectified and the situation defined, so that further
confusion be hereafter impossible, the House-law of the present
Dynasty will be observed, which requires that the Throne be
handed down from father to son. Thus, to the late Emperor, now
childless, an heir will be provided and the Empresses Dowager
will no longer be without a grandson. And, for all time, the
orderly maintenance of the succession will be ascribed to the
Empresses, whose fame will be changeless and unending. This is
what I, your guilty servant, mean, when I say that the double
error which has been committed may yet serve to bring us back
to the right way.
“I, your most unworthy slave, had intended to memorialise on
this matter when His Majesty died, and to present the Memorial
through the Censorate. But it occurred to me that, since I
had lost my post, I was debarred from addressing the Throne.
Besides, how grave a matter is this! If advice in such a
matter be given by a Prince or a Minister, it is called the
sage and far-reaching counsel of a statesman; but if it comes
from a small and insignificant official it is called the idle
utterance of a wanton babbler. Never could I have believed
that the many wise and loyal statesmen of your Court could
one and all regard this as a matter of no immediate urgency,
dismissing it as a question unprofitable for discussion. I
waited, therefore, and the precious moments passed, but none of
them have moved in the matter.
“Afterwards, having received renewed marks of the Imperial
favour, and being again summoned to audience, I was granted
the position of a Board Secretary, and placed on the Board of
Appointments. This was more than four years ago; yet all this
time apparently not one of all the Ministers of your Court has
even given this grave matter a moment’s consideration. The day
for His late Majesty’s entombment has now arrived, and I fear
that what has happened will gradually pass from the minds of
men. The time, therefore, is short, and the reasons which led
me to delay hold good no longer. Looking upward, as the divine
soul of His Majesty soars heavenward on the Dragon, wistfully
I turn my eyes upon the Palace enclosure. Beholding the bows
and arrows left behind on the Bridge Mountain,[36] my thoughts
turn to the cherished mementoes of my Sovereign. Humbly I offer
up these years of life that have been added unto me by His
Majesty’s clemency; humbly I lay them down in propitiation of
the Empresses Dowager, to implore from them a brief Decree on
behalf of the late Emperor.
“But, on the point of leaving this world, I feel that my mind
is confused. The text of this, my Memorial, lacks clearness;
there are manifold omissions in it. It has ever been my custom
to revise a draft twice before handing in a Memorial, but
on this occasion I have not been able to make such careful
revision. I, your unworthy servant, am no scholar like to the
men of old; how, then, could I be calm and collected as they
were wont to be? Once there went a man to his death, and he
could not walk erect. A bystander said to him ‘Are you afraid,
sir?’ He replied, ‘I am.’ ‘If you are afraid, why not turn
back?’ He replied, ‘My fear is a private weakness; my death is
a public duty.’ This is the condition in which I find myself
to-day. ‘When a bird is dying its song is sad. When a man is
dying his words are good.’[37] How could I, your worthless
servant, dare to compare myself with the sage Tseng Tzu?
Though I am about to die, yet may my words not be good; but I
trust that the Empresses and the Emperor will pity my last sad
utterance, regarding it neither as an evil omen nor the idle
plaint of one who has no real cause for grief. Thus shall I die
without regret. A statesman of the Sung Dynasty has remarked:
‘To discuss an event before it occurs is foolhardy. But if one
waits until it has occurred, speech is then too late, and,
therefore, superfluous.’ Foolhardiness notwithstanding, it is
well that the Throne should be warned before events occur;
no Minister should ever have to reproach himself with having
spoken too late. Heartily do I wish that my words may prove
untrue, so that posterity may laugh at my folly. I do not
desire that my words may be verified, for posterity to acclaim
my wisdom. May it be my fate to resemble Tu Mu,[38] even though
to imitate him be a transgression of duty. May I be likened,
rather, to Shih Ch’iu, the sight of whose dead body proved, as
he had hoped, an effective rebuke to his erring Prince. Thus
may my foolish but loyal words be justified in the end.
“I pray the Empresses and Emperor to remember the example of
Their Majesties Shun-Chih and K’ang-Hsi, in tempering justice
with mercy: that they may promote peace and prosperity, by
appointing only worthy men to public offices; that they may
refrain from striving for those objects which foreigners hold
dear, for by such striving they will surely jeopardise the
future of our Middle Kingdom; that they may never initiate any
of the innovations disdained by their ancestors, which would
assuredly leave to posterity a heritage of woe. These are my
last words, my last prayer, the end and crown of my life.
POSTSCRIPT.
“Having been a Censor, I venture thus to memorialise the
Throne. But as my present official position does not permit
of my forwarding this direct, I request the high officials
of my Board to present it for me. As my name did not figure
originally in the list of officials to represent my Board at
the ceremonies preparatory to His late Majesty’s burial, I
begged the Grand Secretary Pao Yün to allow me to be included
in the list. Pao Yün could not have foretold my suicide, so
that no blame can attach to him for being my sponsor. Under our
enlightened Dynasty, how could anyone imagine a return to the
ancient and happily obsolete practice of being buried alive
with one’s Sovereign? But my grief is too great and cannot be
restrained; for to-day my Sovereign returns, dragon-borne, to
Heaven, and all the world weeps with me in woe unutterable.
“I have respectfully but fully explained my feelings in this
question of the lawful succession to the Throne, and now, under
the title of your guilty servant, I present this my Memorial.”
X
TZŬ HSI BECOMES SOLE REGENT
The days of mourning for T’ung-Chih being done, his remains disposed of
as auspiciously as the Court of Astronomers could desire, and his ghost
placated, thanks to Wu K’o-tu, by solemn promises on the part of his
mother to provide him with a suitable and legitimate heir in due season,
life in the Forbidden City settled down once more into the old grooves
under the joint Regency of the Empresses of the Eastern and Western
Palaces.
But before long the new Emperor, a nervous and delicate boy, became,
all unconsciously, a thorn in the side of the woman who put him on the
Throne. As he passed from infancy to boyhood, it was a matter of common
knowledge and report in the Palace that he showed a marked preference for
the Empress Tzŭ An, who, by her kind and sympathetic treatment, had won
the child’s heart. In the innocence of his lonely youth he frequented
therefore the Eastern Palace, while Tzŭ Hsi, whose pride could brook no
rivals, even in the heart of a child, was compelled to look on, and to
realise that the forming of the future ruler’s mind was in the hands
of another woman. There were not lacking those who told her that her
colleague, secretly and with ulterior motives, encouraged the boy to
oppose and displease her. Under these conditions, it was inevitable that
the young Emperor should gradually become a cause of increasing jealousy
and friction between the two women.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE I KUN KUNG.
Tzŭ Hsi lived in these Apartments for some time after the death of
T’ung-Chih.
_Photo, Ogawa, Tokio._]
Tzŭ Hsi undoubtedly resented the boy’s predilection as much as her
colleague’s action in encouraging it. At Court, where everyone and
everything is a potential instrument for intrigue and party faction, the
young Emperor’s attitude could not fail to cause her grave concern. She
was well aware that Tzŭ An could never become, of herself, a formidable
rival, but should she hereafter enjoy the Emperor’s confidence and
support, and instigate him to become the centre of a faction against
her (which he did), there might be danger in the situation for herself.
As the Emperor’s minority approached its end, it therefore became the
more necessary for her to take all possible precautions. She had no
intention of sharing the fate of that Empress Consort of Ch’ien Lung
who was banished to the “Cold Palace” and whose honours and titles were
taken from her on charges of “wild extravagance, love of the theatre and
insubordination to the Emperor’s mother.”
A further cause of friction occurred between the two Empresses Regent on
the occasion of the Imperial progress to the Eastern tombs, in 1880, when
the boy Emperor was nine years old. On this occasion, Tzŭ An, evidently
prompted by Prince Kung to assert herself and her rights, insisted on
taking precedence in all the ceremonies of the ancestral sacrifices
at the Imperial Mausolea and at the prostrations which custom decrees
shall be made before each of the “Jewelled Cities,” as the mounds are
called which cover the Imperial grave chambers. When their Majesties
arrived at the grave of Hsien-Feng, there was serious friction. Tzŭ An,
as the senior Consort of the deceased monarch, claimed as her right the
central position, at the same time relegating her colleague to the place
on her right, leaving the place of honour on the left unoccupied. Not
content with this, Tzŭ An went on to remind her Co-Regent that, where
sacrifices to Hsien-Feng were in question, Tzŭ Hsi was entitled only to
claim precedence as a senior concubine, her elevation to the position
of Empress Mother having taken place after his decease. As a concubine,
etiquette required her, during the sacrifice, to take a position on one
side and slightly in the rear, while the vacant place of honour to Tzŭ
An’s left belonged to the shade of Hsien-Feng’s first consort, who had
died before his accession, but had been posthumously raised to the rank
of senior Empress. Tzŭ Hsi, realising that this indignity was put upon
her at the instigation of Prince Kung and the Princes of the Imperial
family, had no intention of submitting, and peremptorily insisted upon
taking the position to which her actual rank and authority entitled her.
The quarrel was sharp but short. Tzŭ Hsi, as might have been expected,
carried the day, but she felt that such a scene before the ancestral
tombs, witnessed by a large entourage, was semi-sacrilegious and from
every point of view unseemly. She had been made to lose face by the
incident—clearly premeditated—and the fact had immediate effect upon her
subsequent actions and her relations with her colleague.[39]
At the time of this progress to the tombs, Jung Lu was in command of the
Metropolitan Gendarmerie, entrusted with the duty of escorting their
Majesties. Shortly after their return to Peking, however, he incurred her
sharp displeasure by reason of conduct which Tzŭ Hsi was not likely to
overlook, even in her chief favourite. Ever since the Jehol days of the
Tsai Yüan conspiracy, and particularly during the crisis that followed
the death of T’ung-Chih, this powerful Manchu had enjoyed her favour and
confidence in an unusual degree, and as Comptroller of her Household,
he had the right of _entrée_ to the Forbidden City at all times. But
in 1880, suffering no doubt from _ennui_ induced by the inactivity of
Court life, he committed the indiscretion of an intrigue with one of the
ladies of the late Emperor’s seraglio. Information of the scandal was
laid before Her Majesty by the Imperial tutor Weng T’ung-ho, between
whom and Jung Lu there was never love lost. It was commonly rumoured at
Court, after the event, that Tzŭ Hsi, leaving nothing to chance, had
herself discovered the culprit in the women’s quarters of the Palace,
a heinous offence. Be this as it may, Jung Lu was summarily, though
quietly, deprived of all his posts, and for the next seven years he lived
in retirement. In this case Tzŭ Hsi vindicated her pride at the expense
of her own comfort and sense of security, and it was not long before she
had reason to regret the absence of her most loyal and trusty adviser.
Amongst her courtiers she found none to replace him; she missed his wise
counsel, courage and fidelity. But having once committed herself to the
step of dismissing him, she was unwilling to lose face with him and with
her Court by changing her mind. His removal, however, undoubtedly led
to increased friction between herself and Tzŭ An, whom she suspected of
being a party to Jung Lu’s _liaison_.
Finally, in March 1881, a serious quarrel took place between the two
Empresses, on the subject of the influence which the Chief Eunuch Li
Lien-ying had come to exercise, and the arrogance of his manner. Tzŭ An
complained that this favourite and confidential servant of her colleague
ignored her, setting her authority at nought, so that she was mocked even
by her own subordinates. She deplored and denounced the existing state of
affairs, commenting unpleasantly on the notorious fact that the eunuch
was openly known by the title of “Lord of nine thousand years,” a title
which implied that he was but one degree lower than the Emperor (Lord of
ten thousand years) and entitled to something approximating to Imperial
honours.[40]
The quarrel on this occasion was exceedingly bitter, nor was any
reconciliation subsequently effected between the Empresses. It is very
generally believed, and was freely stated at the time that, incensed
beyond measure and impatient of any further interference with her
authority, Tzŭ Hsi brought about the death of her colleague, which
was commonly attributed to poison. In the atmosphere of an Oriental
Court such charges are as inevitable as they are incapable of proof or
disproof, and were it not for the unfortunate fact that those who stood
in the way of Tzŭ Hsi’s ambitions, or who incurred her displeasure,
frequently failed to survive it, we should be justified in refusing to
attach importance to the imputations of foul play raised on this and
other occasions. But these occasions are too numerous to be entirely
overlooked or regarded as simple coincidences. In the present instance,
the Empress Tzŭ An fell ill of a sudden and mysterious sickness, and
in the words of the Imperial Decree, she “ascended the fairy chariot
for her distant journey” on the evening of the 10th day of the 3rd
Moon. In accordance with prescribed custom, she drafted just before
her decease a valedictory Decree which, as will be observed, touches
hardly at all on the political questions of the day. These, even at the
moment of her death, she appeared to leave, as by established right, to
her strong-minded colleague. After referring to her position as Senior
Consort of the Emperor Hsien-Feng and recording the fact that during his
minority the young Emperor had done justice to his education (in which
she had always been much interested), the Edict proceeds as follows:—
“In spite of the arduous duties of the State, which have
fully occupied my time, I was naturally of robust constitution
and had therefore fully expected to attain to a good old age
and to enjoy the Emperor’s dutiful ministrations. Yesterday,
however, I was suddenly stricken with a slight illness and His
Majesty thereupon commanded his physician to attend me; later
His Majesty came in person to enquire as to my health. And now,
most unexpectedly, I have had a most dangerous relapse. At 7
P.M. this evening I became completely confused in mind and now
all hope of my recovery appears to be vain. I am forty-five
years of age and for close on twenty years have held the high
position of a Regent of the Empire. Many honorific titles and
ceremonies of congratulation have been bestowed upon me: what
cause have I therefore for regret?”
At her request, and with that modesty which custom prescribes, the period
of Imperial mourning was reduced from twenty-seven months to twenty-seven
days. There is a human touch in the conclusion of this Decree which seems
to preclude the conclusion that Tzŭ Hsi had any hand in its drafting,
for it describes Tzŭ An as having been careful to “set a good example of
thrift and sobriety in the Palace and to have steadily discountenanced
all pomp and vain display in her share of the Court ceremonies.” As most
of the charges levelled for many years against Tzŭ Hsi by Censors and
other high officials referred to her notorious extravagance, this, and
Tzŭ An’s last request for a modest funeral as the fitting conclusion to a
modest life, were a palpable hit.
Tzŭ An was dead. The playmate of her youth, the girl who had faced with
her the solemn mysteries of the Forbidden City, the woman who later,
because of her failure to provide an heir to the Throne, had effaced
herself in favour of the Empress Mother, her poor-spirited rival of many
years—Tzŭ An would trouble her no more. Henceforth, without usurpation
of authority, Tzŭ Hsi was free to direct the ship of State alone, sole
Regent of the Empire.
And with the death of her colleague came the desire to be free from
the restraints of advice given by prescriptive right of long-standing
authority, the ambition to be the only and undisputed controller of the
nation’s destinies, and acknowledged Head of the State. For many years—in
fact, since the decapitation of her favourite eunuch, An Te-hai, by
Prince Kung[41] and her Co-Regent—she had been on bad terms with that
Prince, and jealous of his influence and well-earned reputation for
statesmanship. The manner in which, years before, she had taken from
him his title of Adviser to the Government has already been described.
Unable to dispense with his services, desirous of profiting by his ripe
experience, especially in foreign affairs, she had borne with her Prime
Minister grudgingly and of necessity. In 1884, however, she felt strong
enough to stand alone, and the war with France (caused by the dispute as
to China’s claims to suzerainty over Tongking) gave her an opportunity
and an excuse for getting rid at one stroke of Prince Kung and his
colleagues of the Grand Council.
The immediate pretext for their dismissal was the destruction of the
Chinese fleet of junks by the French in the Min River, but Her Majesty’s
real reason was that she believed that the Prince was intriguing against
her with the young Emperor, and that he was to some extent responsible
for a recent Memorial, in which several Censors had roundly denounced her
for depraved morals and boundless extravagance.
The Decree in which she dismissed this able adviser of the Throne is in
her best manner, displaying many of the qualities which explain this
remarkable woman’s long and successful rule. The facts to which she
refers have a direct and interesting connection with much subsequent
history:—
“Our country has not yet returned to its wonted stability,
and its affairs are still in a critical state. There is chaos
in the Government and a feeling of insecurity amongst the
people. It is, therefore, of the utmost importance that there
should be competent statesmen at the head of affairs, and that
our Grand Council should be an efficient pivot and centre of
administration.
“Prince Kung, at the outset of his career, was wont to
render us most zealous assistance; but this attitude became
modified, as time went by, to one of self-confident and callous
contentment with the sweets of office, and of late he has
become unduly inflated with his pride of place, displaying
nepotism and slothful inefficiency. On occasions when we have
urged the Grand Council to display zeal and single-hearted
devotion to the State, he and his colleagues have ruthlessly
stuck to their preconceived ideas, and have failed to carry
out our orders, for which reason they have more than once been
impeached, either on grounds of obstructiveness or general
uselessness. It has even been said of them that their private
lives are disreputable, and that they have dared to recommend
persons for high office from improper and corrupt motives.
“The House-laws of our Dynasty are most severe, and if there
were any truth in the accusations of treason that have been
made against Prince Kung, we should not hesitate for a single
moment to inflict upon him the extreme penalty of the law. We
do not believe, however, that he can have dared to act in the
manner suggested. We set these aside, therefore, and will deal
only with the other charges to which we have referred, and for
which there would appear to be good foundation. They are in
themselves more than sufficient to cause the gravest injury
to the State, and if we continue to treat the Prince with
leniency, how shall we justify ourselves hereafter in the eyes
of our glorious ancestors? We shall incur no small blame in
the eyes of posterity, and when the day comes for the Emperor
to take over charge of the Government there can be no doubt
that he would be likely to fail, under such conditions, to shed
lustre, by his reign, on the Dynasty.
“If we were to make public even one or two of the accusing
Memorials that have reached us, it would be impossible for us,
on grounds of privilege, to extenuate the Prince’s faults,
and we should be forced to cashier several of our senior
advisers. In the magnanimity of our heart we shrink, however,
from any such drastic steps, being moved to deep compassion
at the thought that Prince Kung and his colleague, the Grand
Secretary, Pao Yün, should have served us so long and now have
come to deserve our stern censure and severe punishment. We are
prompted to leniency by remembrance of the fact that Prince
Kung suffers from a complication of diseases, while Pao Yün
has reached an advanced old age. In recognition of their past
merits we have, therefore, decided that their good fame may
be left to them, and remain unsullied for the rest of their
days. As a mark of our Imperial clemency we have decided to
permit Prince Kung to retain his hereditary Princedom, together
with all the emoluments thereof, but he is hereby deprived of
all his offices, and the double salary which he has hitherto
enjoyed is withdrawn. He is permitted to retire into private
life and attend to the care of his health.
“As regards the Grand Secretary, Pao Yün, he also is allowed
to retire from public life, retaining his present rank and
titles. As for Li Hung-tsao,[42] who has been a member of the
Council for many years, his narrow views and lack of practical
experience have caused him to fail completely in his duties.
Finally, Ching Lien, the President of the Board of War,
seems to think that his duties are satisfactorily performed
by adherence to a routine of procrastination, the man being
devoid of the first elements of knowledge. Both these officials
are hereby relieved of their posts, to be employed in lower
positions hereafter. Weng T’ung-ho, the President of the Board
of Works, has only recently been appointed a member of the
Council, at a time of serious complications, and has, so far,
taken no active part in its proceedings. He therefore escapes
censure or penalty. As a mark of our consideration we hereby
remove him from his post on the Grand Council, but permit him
to retain his position on the Board of Works, and he will
continue his services as Tutor to the Emperor.”
“For a long time past we have been quietly observing the
behaviour and general tendencies of Prince Kung and his
colleagues, and we are quite convinced in our mind that it is
useless to look to them for any activity or awakening of their
petrified energies. If they were retained in office, we firmly
believe that they would end by incurring severe punishment by
causing some really serious disaster to the State. For this
reason we now content ourselves with mild censure from a sense
of pity, as a measure of precaution. It is not because of any
trivial misdemeanour, or because of the impeachment by Censors
that we thus dismiss from office a Prince of the Blood and
these high Ministers of our Government, nor is our action taken
on any sudden impulse and without full consideration.”
As the result of this Decree, Prince Kung retired from the scene,
to remain in unemployed obscurity until 1894, when, after the first
disasters of the war with Japan, Tzŭ Hsi, older and wiser, turned to him
once more for assistance. He never completely regained the influence
with the Empress which he had enjoyed in the earlier days of the first
Regency, but after his return to office until his death in 1898, his
prestige, especially among foreigners, was great. Tzŭ Hsi, though she
loved him not, was forced to admit that he had accepted and borne his
degradation with dignity.
After the issue of the above Decree, Prince Kung was succeeded in office
by Prince Li, the head of the eight Princely families and a descendant of
a younger son of Nurhachu. With him were associated on the Grand Council,
amongst others, the elder brother of Chang Chih-tung and Sun Yu-wen.[43]
The latter was a bitter enemy of the Imperial Tutor, Weng T’ung-ho. In
appointing him to the Council, Tzŭ Hsi followed her favourite tactics of
creating dissension among her advisers and maintaining the equilibrium of
her own authority as the resultant of their conflicting forces.
Her Majesty’s next step aroused a storm of opposition and criticism.
She decreed that in all matters of urgency, the Grand Council, before
advising the Throne, should confer with the Emperor’s father, Prince
Ch’un, but added that upon the Emperor’s attaining his majority, she
would issue further instructions on this subject. This was not only an
entirely new and irregular departure, since it made the Emperor’s father
_de facto_ head of the executive, but it implied the possibility of
violation of the solemn pledges given to the nation in 1875, as to the
provision of an heir to the Emperor T’ung-Chih. Fears were once more
aroused in an acute form that Prince Ch’un might hereafter persuade
his son to ignore the ancestral claims of the late Emperor, and thus
constitute the house of Ch’un founders of a new line. The Prince would
have great inducement to adopt this policy, as it would confer upon him
and upon his wife (Tzŭ Hsi’s sister) Imperial rank during their lives
and Imperial honours after their death. The reign of T’ung-Chih would in
that case be practically expunged, going down to posterity dishonoured
as the ignominious end of the senior branch of the Ta Ching Dynasty,
and the Yehonala clan would become of paramount influence. A wide field
would thus be left for future dissensions, treasons, stratagems and Court
intrigues. In fact the position thus created would be somewhat similar to
that which arose from the rivalry of the Houses of York and Lancaster in
English history.
An Imperial Clansman, named Sheng Yü, and other scholars, memorialised in
the most urgent terms praying the Empress to cancel this appointment and
suggesting that if Prince Ch’un’s advice were really needed, it should
be given to herself direct and not to the Grand Council. The writers
advanced numerous arguments, all calculated to save the face of Prince
Ch’un while preventing him from accepting the position. They doubted
whether his health would stand the strain, and whether the duties of the
post were consistent with his high calling; at the same time they foresaw
that a post which practically conferred the powers of a Dictator must
undoubtedly make him unpopular, a result which Her Majesty herself would
be the first to deplore.
Besides, had not the Emperor Chia-Ch’ing declared (in 1799) that Princes
of the Blood were not eligible for service on the Grand Council, except
in cases of urgent and exceptional emergency?
“The truth is,” they concluded, “that a Prince of the Blood,
by virtue of his position, cannot be liable to the same
punishments as ordinary subjects, and for this reason he
should not hold a Government office. Prince Kung has held this
high post, it is true, but this was merely temporary, and in
any case, the power conferred upon him was much less than
that which it is now proposed to confer upon Prince Ch’un.
We therefore respectfully invite Your Majesty reverently to
conform to the laws of the Dynasty, and to cancel the Decree
conferring these functions upon Prince Ch’un.”
As final objections, the Memorialists observed that the Prince could not
be expected to attend every morning at the Palace, nor could he usurp
the Imperial prerogative by expecting the Grand Council to meet at his
residence; and it would be irregular for the Censors to denounce any
errors committed by a Prince of the Blood as head of the Council.
The Censor Chao Erh-hsün (an upright official who has since held
office as Viceroy in Manchuria and in Ssŭ-Ch’uan) memorialised in the
same sense, observing that the Grand Council would be superfluous if
everything had to be referred to Prince Ch’un, whose position as father
of the Emperor made him impossible for this post. “Why,” said he, “could
not Her Majesty command the Prince to attend before her, whenever she
needed his advice, and let him expound his views to her in person? There
could be no objections to this course.”
To these remonstrances Tzŭ Hsi replied:
“There is no doubt that the sage decisions of former Emperors
deserve to be treated with every consideration and respect, but
it is to be observed that, ever since I assumed the Regency,
I have been by circumstances compelled to confer regularly on
confidential business with a Prince of the Blood. You must all
be aware that this situation has been forced upon me owing to
the exigencies of the times, and was none of my seeking. The
Decree in which, some days ago, I appointed Prince Ch’un to be
Adviser to the Council, had no reference to ordinary routine
business, with which he has no concern, but only to urgent
matters of State. I had not, and have not, any intention of
giving him a definite appointment, and he himself was most
reluctant to accept at my hands even this advisory position; it
was because of his repeated entreaties that I promised to issue
further instructions in the matter upon the Emperor’s reaching
his majority. The present arrangement is of a purely temporary
nature. You cannot possibly realise how great and numerous are
the problems with which I have to deal single-handed. As to
the Grand Council, let them beware of making Prince Ch’un’s
position an excuse for shirking their responsibilities. In
conclusion, I wish that my Ministers would for the future pay
more respect to the motives with actuate their Sovereign’s
actions, and abstain from troubling me with their querulous
criticisms. The Memorialists’ requests are hereby refused.”
Rescripts of this kind are curiously suggestive of Queen Elizabeth, and
her manner of dealing with similar petitions from her loyal and dutiful
subjects.
XI
TZŬ HSI “EN RETRAITE”
In 1887 Kuang-Hsü completed his seventeenth year, and Tzŭ Hsi saw
herself confronted by the necessity of surrendering to him the outward
and visible signs of sovereignty. The change was naturally viewed with
apprehension by those of her courtiers and kinsmen who for the last
ten years had basked in the sunshine of her unfettered authority and
patronage, whose places and privileges might well be endangered by a
new _régime_. When, therefore, as in duty bound, she expressed a desire
to retire from public life, it was not surprising that urgent petitions
and remonstrances poured in, begging her to continue yet a little while
in control of affairs, nor that she should finally allow herself to be
persuaded. It was not until February 1889 that she definitely handed over
the reins of government to the Emperor, on the occasion of his marriage
to the daughter of her brother, Duke Kuei Hsiang.
Tzŭ Hsi was now fifty-five years of age. For nearly thirty years she
had been _de facto_ ruler of the Celestial Empire. She had tasted the
sweets of autocracy, had satisfied all her instincts of dominion, and it
seemed as if she were not unwilling to enjoy the fruit of her labours and
to exchange the formal routine of the Forbidden City for the pleasures
and comparative freedom of life at the Summer Palace, which was now in
course of reconstruction. Always avid of movement and change, weary of
the increasing toil of audiences and Rescripts, apprehensive, too, of
the steadily increasing pressure of the earth-hungry Powers on China’s
frontiers, she could not fail to be attracted by the prospect of a life
of gilded leisure and recreation. Nor could she have remained on the
Throne, Kuang-Hsü being alive, without an overt and flagrant act of
usurpation for which, until he had been tried and found wanting, there
was no possible justification. Certain writers, foreign and Chinese, have
imputed to her at this period a policy of _reculer pour mieux sauter_,
suggesting that her hand, though hidden, was never really withdrawn from
the affairs of the Forbidden City. To some extent the suggestion is
justifiable; but Tzŭ Hsi’s retirement in the I-Ho Yüan lasted, roughly
speaking, for ten years, during a considerable portion of which period
she undoubtedly ceased to concern herself with affairs of State, other
than those which directly affected the replenishing of her privy purse.
But while divesting herself of the outward and visible signs of
rulership, Tzŭ Hsi had no intention of becoming a negligible quantity,
or of losing touch with current events. From her luxurious retreat at
the foot of the hills which shelter Peking, she could keep close watch
on the doings of the Emperor, and protect the interests of her personal
adherents in the capital and the provinces. Her power of appointing and
dismissing officials, which drew much of its inspiration from the Chief
Eunuch, was never surrendered.
In marrying the Emperor to her favourite niece, Tzŭ Hsi intended to
avoid a repetition of the mistake which she had committed in the case of
her son, the Emperor T’ung-Chih, whose marriage with the virtuous and
courageous A-lu-te had resulted in dangerous intrigues against herself,
until death had removed the offenders. Warned by this experience,
she made her selection in the present instance less with a view to
the Emperor’s felicity than to the furtherance of her own purposes,
which necessitated the presence by his side of someone who would watch
over, and report on, his proceedings and proclivities. This part her
niece played to perfection. In appearance she was unattractive, and in
disposition and temper unsympathetic, but she possessed a considerable
share of the Yehonala intelligence and strength of will. From the very
first she was on bad terms with the Emperor. It was no secret at Court
that they indulged in fierce and protracted quarrels, in which the young
Empress generally came off victorious. As a natural result, Kuang-Hsü
developed and showed a marked preference for the society of his two
senior concubines, known respectively as the “Pearl” and “Lustrous”
consorts.
Upon the Emperor’s assumption of rulership, there was shown a strong
feeling amongst the senior members of the Yehonala clan that the
opportunity should be taken to consolidate its position and power by
conferring on the Emperor’s father rank in the hierarchy higher than that
which he had hitherto held, with a view to his ultimate canonisation
as Emperor. The manner in which this proposal was put forward, and Tzŭ
Hsi’s refusal to act upon it—while giving all possible “face” to Prince
Ch’un—throw light upon one of the undercurrents of China’s dynastic
affairs which are so difficult for Europeans to follow.
The views of Prince Chun’s adherents were voiced in a Memorial addressed
to the Empress Dowager by Wu Ta-ch’eng, formerly Vice-President of the
Censorate, who at that time held the post of Director of the Yellow River
Conservancy. This Memorial, after referring to the services rendered
by Prince Ch’un as head of the Admiralty, and praising his patriotism,
zeal and extreme modesty, proceeded to observe that he was, after all,
the Emperor’s own father, and, as such, entitled to higher respect in a
Dynasty which “won the Empire by virtue of its respect for filial piety.”
The Memorialist further recommended that the Son of Heaven should be
authorised to grant special recognition and honour to his parent, on the
principle laid down by Mencius that “the main principle underlying all
ceremonies is that satisfaction should be felt by those concerned.”
As usual, the Memorialist strengthened his request with reference to
historical precedents, and quoted a case, referred to by the Emperor
Ch’ien Lung in his edition of Chu Hsi’s famous historical work, where
two parties in the State under the Sung Dynasty disagreed as to the
title to be accorded to the father of the Emperor (A.D. 1050). In that
instance the opinion of His Majesty Ch’ien-Lung (as a commentator) was
opposed to that of the historians, for he supported the contention that
the Emperor’s father, as a simple matter of filial piety, is entitled to
special honour. He quoted a case where, under the Ming Dynasty (1525),
the Emperor desired to have his father raised to the rank of Emperor,
although he also had been born only to princely rank; in other words, the
Emperor Ch’ien Lung, who is justly regarded as the highest authority on
precedents produced by the present Dynasty, placed the blood-tie between
father and son above all the theories and conventions that might be
raised by courtiers as to their official relationship. The Memorialist
concluded by recommending that the title of “Imperial father” be given
to Prince Ch’un, and that the Empress Dowager should announce this as
the last act of her rule, so that His Majesty’s filial piety might be
fittingly displayed.
There is every reason to believe that the above Memorial was inspired
in the high quarters immediately concerned, so as to afford Her Majesty
an opportunity for putting on record her own views, while bestowing
great honour on the house of Ch’un. After praising the Prince and his
unswerving loyalty, she continues:—
“Whenever I have wished to bestow any special honour upon him,
he has refused it with tears in his eyes. On one occasion I
granted him permission to ride in a sedan chair with curtains
of apricot yellow[44] silk, but not once has he ventured to
avail himself of this honour. He has thus displayed his loyalty
and unselfish modesty, already well known to my people as well
as to myself.
“Years ago, in the first month of the present reign, the Prince
put in a secret Memorial, in which, after reciting numerous
precedents, he expressed a fear that the very example which
has now been cited by the present Memoralist (Wu Ta-ch’eng)
might be used by sycophants and other evil persons to advance
improper proposals on his behalf. For this reason he handed
in his secret Memorial in advance, with a request that, when
the Emperor should attain his majority, no change whatsoever
should be made in his own rank and titles. Never was there a
more brilliant example of devoted service by a Minister of the
Crown, and, while heartily praising him, I yielded reluctantly
to his request. Now that I am about to hand over the reins of
Government, the very thing that Prince Ch’un feared has come
to pass, and I therefore feel bound to take this occasion to
publish to the world his original Memorial, so that none may
hope to work mischief by any further proposals of a similar
kind, and that this worthy Prince’s sincerity, thus manifested,
may become an example for all to follow.”
Prince Ch’un’s original Memorial, dated 1875, is of no particular
interest except in that it reveals, even at that date, a sense of the
dangers arising from the confusion of the Imperial succession and
considerable anxiety as to the future adjustment of the situation. His
own object in declining further honours was clearly stated to be that
he wished to prevent sycophants and persons of doubtful loyalty from
establishing claims upon him or forming a party in the Forbidden City,
which (it may be observed) has actually come to pass. He deplored the
possibility that when His Majesty the Emperor begins to rule in person,
“officials of obscure origin may be led to think that, by artful and
treasonable suggestions, they may delude His Majesty and thus rise to
high office by creating opportunities of dissension.”
The rank of the Emperor’s father therefore remained that of an
hereditary Prince, but there is no doubt that the matter is by no means
disposed of, and may possibly be revived upon the conclusion of the
present Regent’s term of office.[45]
Shortly after Tzŭ Hsi’s retirement from public affairs the Emperor’s
father, Prince Ch’un, fell ill of a sickness which increased until, on
1st January 1891, he died. In 1890, the Censorate, deeply concerned
for a strict observance of the laws and ceremonial etiquette of filial
piety, took occasion, in a Memorial of remonstrance, to draw Her
Majesty’s attention to her duty, and that of the Emperor, of visiting
the invalid. Tzŭ Hsi’s reply took the form of a rebuke to the Censors,
whom she bluntly directed to mind their own business, in a manner which
forcibly brings to mind Queen Elizabeth’s methods of dealing with
similar remonstrances. Nevertheless she took the hint and thenceforward,
throughout the summer of 1890, she paid repeated visits to Prince Ch’un’s
bedside.
This Prince had always been a favourite with Tzŭ Hsi, who greatly
preferred him to his elder brothers; she regretted his death and felt
the loss of his wise and fearless counsel, which had often guided her
policy. He was a staunch Manchu, jealous of the power and privileges of
the Clans, and will long be remembered in Chinese history for the remark
which he made at a meeting of the Council after the campaign in Tongking.
“It were better,” said he, “to hand over the Empire to the foreign
devils, than to surrender it at the dictation of these Chinese rebels,”
a remark which was prompted by the growing discontent of the province of
Canton against the Manchus and their rule.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE TAI HO TIEN.
This Palace is used only for occasions of high ceremony, such as Imperial
birthday celebrations.
_Photo, Ogawa, Tokio._]
In her Decree recording the Prince’s death and praising his eminent
services as Chamberlain of the Palace, Head of the Navy[46] and
Commander of the Manchu Field Force, Tzŭ Hsi gave detailed instructions
for the mourning and funeral ceremonies, donating in her own name a
Tibetan prayer coverlet for the body. She conferred upon him the somewhat
obvious (but according to Chinese ideas, highly honourable) title of
“deceased father of the Emperor” and ordered that the funeral should be
upon a scale “which shall simultaneously display His Majesty’s favour and
his sense of filial piety,” due care being taken at the same time not to
outrage the deceased’s conspicuous modesty. By these means, which were
in accordance with her guiding principle of the “happy mean,” she hoped
to set at rest all question of “usurping tendencies” and to reassure
the Aisin Gioros as to their fears of the undue ambition of the house
of Ch’un. Finally, in accordance with the precedent established by the
Emperor Ch’ien-Lung, she decreed that the late Prince’s residence should
be divided into two portions, one to be set aside as his own ancestral
Hall and the other as a shrine (it being the birthplace) of his Majesty
Kuang-Hsü.
In 1894 the Empress Dowager reached her sixtieth year, which, according
to Chinese ideas, is an event calling for special thanksgiving and
honour. Secure in her great and increasing popularity, safely entrenched
in her prestige and influence, the Old Buddha had expected to devote
her leisure at the Summer Palace to preparations for celebrating this
anniversary on a scale of unparalleled magnificence. The I-Ho Yüan,
as the Summer Palace is called,[47] had been entirely rebuilt, by the
Emperor’s orders, with funds taken from the Navy Department and other
Government Boards since 1889, and had just been completed. Most of
the high provincial authorities had been summoned to the capital to
take part in these festivities (and, incidentally, to help to pay for
them), and amongst them the faithful Jung Lu returned once more to his
mistress’s side, in high favour, as General in command of the Forces at
Peking. (For the last three years he had been at Hsi-an, holding the
sinecure post of Tartar General.) Every high official in the Empire had
been “invited” to contribute twenty-five per cent. of his salary as a
birthday gift to Her Majesty, and the total amount of these offerings
must have amounted to several millions of taels. Everything pointed to
festivities of great splendour; orders had already been given for the
erection of triumphal arches in her honour throughout the whole five
miles of the Imperial highway between Peking and the Summer Palace, when
the continued disasters which overtook China’s forces, immediately after
the outbreak of the war with Japan, caused Her Majesty to reconsider the
situation, and eventually to cancel all arrangements for the celebration.
In the Emperor’s name she issued the following somewhat pathetic Decree:—
“The auspicious occasion of my sixtieth birthday, occurring in
the 10th Moon of this year, was to have been a joyful event,
in which the whole nation would unite in paying to me loyal
and dutiful homage. It had been intended that His Majesty
the Emperor, accompanied by the whole Court, should proceed
to offer congratulations to me, and make obeisance at the
Summer Palace, and my officials and people have subscribed
funds wherewith to raise triumphal arches, and to decorate the
Imperial highway throughout its entire length from Peking to
the I-Ho Yüan; high altars have been erected where Buddhist
Sutras were to have been recited in my honour. I was not
disposed to be unduly obstinate and to insist on refusing these
honours, because, at the time that the celebration was planned,
my people were enjoying peace and prosperity; moreover, there
is precedent for such displays of pageantry and rejoicing in
the occasions on which the Emperors K’ang-Hsi and Ch’ien-Lung
celebrated their sixtieth birthdays. I, therefore, consented
to His Majesty’s filial request, and decided to receive
birthday congratulations at the Summer Palace. Who would ever
have anticipated that the Japanese (literally, ‘dwarf men’)
would have dared to force us into hostilities, and that since
the beginning of the summer they have invaded our tributary
State (Corea) and destroyed our fleet? We had no alternative
but to draw the sword and to commence a punitive campaign; at
this moment our armies are pressing to the front. The people
of both nations (China and Corea) are now involved in all the
horrors of war, and I am continually haunted by the thought
of their distress; therefore, I have issued a grant of three
million taels from my privy purse for the maintenance and
relief of our troops at the front.
“Although the date of my birthday is drawing close, how could
I have the heart, at such a time, to delight my senses with
revelries, or to receive from my subjects congratulations
which could only be sincere if we had won a glorious victory?
I therefore decree that the ceremonies to be observed on my
birthday shall be performed at the Palace in Peking, and all
preparations at the Summer Palace shall be abandoned forthwith.
The words of the Empress.”
To which the Emperor adds the filial remark on his own account: “That Her
Majesty had acted in accordance with the admirable virtue which always
distinguished her, and that, in spite of his own wishes, he was bound
reverently to obey her orders in the matter.”
China’s complete and ignominious defeat by the Japanese forces
undoubtedly inflicted no small loss of prestige on the Manchu Dynasty,
and was a direct cause of the violent agitation of the Southern Provinces
for reform, which led in turn to the _coup d’état_ and to the Boxer
rising. It is doubtful whether war could have been avoided without even
greater sacrifices and humiliation, and the Empress Dowager showed her
usual sagacity therefore in refraining from expressing any opinion or
taking any share of responsibility in the decision taken by the Emperor.
She knew, moreover, that, by the action and advice of her Chief Eunuch,
the Navy had for years been starved in order to provide her with funds
to rebuild and decorate the Summer Palace, a fact of which some of
China’s most distinguished advisers were at that time unaware.
As Viceroy of the Metropolitan Province, Li Hung-chang was generally
blamed for advising the Court to maintain China’s suzerainty over Corea
by force of arms, but, speaking from personal knowledge of this subject,
we may state that, like many other Ministers similarly situated, he
hesitated until the very last moment before taking risks which he knew to
be enormous in both directions. The documents upon which history might
have been written with full knowledge of the facts were unfortunately
destroyed in the Viceroy’s Yamên at Tientsin and in the Inspector-General
of Customs’ quarters at Peking, in 1900, so that the immediate causes
of that disastrous war will probably never be established with complete
accuracy. Li Hung-chang was aware that twice already Japan had been
bought off from a war of aggression against China, the first time (in
1874) by payment of an indemnity, and again (in 1885) by admitting her
to a share in the control of Corea, a concession which had led directly
to the present crisis. He realised that even had he been willing to
surrender China’s rights over Corea (which were of no real advantage to
the Chinese Government) the concession might have purchased peace for
the time being, but it would certainly have led before long to the loss
of the Manchurian Provinces; just as certainly, in fact, as the doom of
those provinces was sealed in 1905, on the day that China acquiesced in
the terms of the Portsmouth Treaty. Japan’s attack on China’s positions
was diplomatically as unjustifiable as the methods which she adopted in
commencing hostilities. Li Hung-chang was fully aware of the preparations
that Japan had been making for years, and equally aware of the
disorganised state of his own naval and military resources, but he was
surrounded by officials who, like the Manchus in 1900, were convinced of
China’s immense superiority, and he was assured by the Chinese Resident
in Corea (Yüan Shih-k’ai) that help would be forthcoming from England
in the event of Japan’s commencing hostilities. There was no doubt of
the British Government’s sympathy, which was clearly reflected in the
attitude and actions of the Consul-General at Seoul.[48]
Chinese historians have openly accused Li Hung-chang of instigating the
Court and the Emperor to a war of aggression, and the accusation has been
generally credited abroad. The truth is, that while Li was originally all
in favour of sending a Chinese force to suppress the Corean insurrection,
he became opposed to taking any steps that might lead to war with Japan,
as soon as he realised that war was Japan’s object; nevertheless, it is
certain that, in the last instance, he was persuaded against his better
judgment by the military enthusiasm of his German advisers, and that the
sending of the ill-fated “Kow-hsing” and her doomed crew to Corea was a
step which he authorised only after consultation with Peking and in full
knowledge of the fact that it meant war. No sooner had the “Kow-hsing”
been sunk, and the first military disasters of the campaign reported,
than he naturally endeavoured to minimise his own share of responsibility
in the matter.
Foreigners blamed him for making war on Japan, while his own countrymen
attacked him for betraying China to the Japanese, as they subsequently
attacked him for selling Manchuria to Russia. Tzŭ Hsi had no great love
for the Viceroy, although she admired his remarkable intelligence and
adroit methods: but when, after the war, he was fiercely attacked by
several of the Censors, and when she found her own name associated with
the blame imputed to him, she loyally defended him, as was her wont.
In 1895, a Censor named An Wei-chün boldly blamed Her Majesty and the
Viceroy for the disasters which had overtaken China. He said:—
“Li Hung-chang has invariably advanced himself because of his
relations with foreigners, and thus been led to conceive an
inflated opinion of his own merits. The ‘dwarf bandits’[49]
having rebelled, he seems to have been afraid that the large
sums of money, saved from numerous peculations, which he
had deposited in Japan might be lost; hence his objections
to the war. When the Decree declaring war reached him, his
disappointment was great, and he showed his resentment and
treachery by supplying the ‘dwarf bandits’ with supplies and
munitions of war. His only hope was that the ‘dwarfs’ would
prove victorious and his prophecy would thus be justified; to
this end he curtailed the supplies for our troops at the front,
diverting the funds for the same to his own pockets. He would
strongly oppose all those who urged a vigorous prosecution
of the campaign, rejoicing at our defeats and deploring our
successes. All the military commanders of the forces under his
orders humbly complied with his wishes, and invariably ran away
at the first sight of the enemy. The Censorate has been full of
Memorials denouncing the treacherous and unpatriotic action of
Li Hung-chang, so that there is no need for me to say anything
further on this subject.
“But I would like to add that Generals Yeh and Wei, who have
been cashiered and whose arrest has been decreed, are at this
very moment in hiding at Tientsin; they have made the Viceroy’s
Yamên itself a place of refuge for absconding criminals. This
is a matter of common knowledge and undoubtedly true. Then
again we have the case of Ting Ju-chang, who was ordered to
be arrested, but who persuaded Li Hung-chang to intercede for
him, on the plea that he was indispensable to China, being in
possession of a mysterious secret, an American invention which
he alone could manipulate, whereby all surrounding objects can
be rendered invisible. Li Hung-chang actually had the audacity
to make mention of this ridiculous invention in addressing
your Majesty, and it seems to me that if he is to be permitted
to refer to fables and unclean magic of this kind, he is
treating the Throne with shameless disrespect. Nevertheless,
none of your Majesty’s Councillors have ever dared to oppose
him, possibly because they themselves are too far gone in
senile decay to be able to bear any further burden of distress.
Their thoughts are far away, wool-gathering, or it may be that
they too have been smitten with fear at the thought of this
marvellous invention of Li Hung-chang’s whereby the landscape
may be completely befogged. If so, the fact would account
for the nebulous tendencies of their policy, and for their
remaining in ignorance of Li Hung-chang’s remarkable mendacity.
“The Imperial Decree whereby Shao Yu-lien and Chang Yin-huan
have been appointed Plenipotentiaries to discuss terms of
peace, has not yet been made public, because the Grand
Council are actually afraid openly to mention the word peace,
notwithstanding that they failed utterly in prosecuting the war
and in dignified insistence on our lawful rights. Their action
appears to me like that of a thief who having stolen a bell,
shuts his ears while carrying it away, blissfully forgetting
that everybody else can hear its tinkling. They do not seem to
be aware, these Councillors, that throughout the whole Empire
everybody is already aware of the fact that we are suing for
peace. Japan having objected to Shao on personal grounds, the
Grand Council has now actually gone so far as to suggest that
in his place Li Hung-chang’s son, Li Ching-fang[50] should be
appointed. This is simply an outrage. Li Ching-fang is nothing
more than the son-in-law of a Japanese traitor who calls
himself Chang Pang-chang, a man whom I have already impeached.
If such unspeakable traitors are permitted to go to Japan,
nothing will suit the Japanese better, and the negotiations
must inevitably result in our being badly cheated by these
pernicious robbers. Japan’s strength is purely superficial;
as a matter of fact, she is rotten to the core; if now we are
debarred from compelling Japan to fight a decisive battle, if
we meekly accept terms dictated by these low-born dwarfs, we
are simply in the position of a tributary State, and cannot
be described as equals in any treaty that may be made. In
other words, our glorious Empire is not only being ruined by
muddlers, but sold by traitors. There is not a single subject
of the Throne who does not gnash his teeth with rage, and long
to sink them in the flesh of Li Hung-chang.
“There are not lacking people who declare that this humiliating
policy of peace has been prompted by the Empress Dowager’s
Chief Eunuch, Li Lien-ying. For myself, I do not care to attach
undue importance to tea-house gossip, but as the Empress
Dowager has now handed over the reins of Government to your
Majesty, how can you possibly justify your position before
your ancestors and to your subjects, if you permit her still
to dictate to you, or to interfere in the business of the
State? What sort of a person is this Li Lien-ying who dares
to interfere in Government matters? If there be any truth
whatsoever in the rumour, it is assuredly incumbent upon your
Majesty to inflict severe punishment on this creature, if only
because of that House-law of your Dynasty which forbids eunuchs
to concern themselves in State affairs.
“The truth is that the Throne has been intimidated by Li
Hung-chang, and has taken his statements for granted, while the
Grand Council, chiefly composed of Li’s humble and obedient
servants, shields him from detection and punishment, fearing
that, if thwarted, he may raise the standard of rebellion. They
accordingly do their best to justify him in the eyes of your
Majesty, failing to realise that he has always been a traitor
at heart. His is the will, if not the power, to rebel. His army
is composed of corrupt and useless creatures quite devoid of
any military knowledge or instincts, while his troops are ever
on the verge of mutiny, because they are always defrauded of
their pay. They are quite deficient in _esprit de corps_, and
the small foreign forces lately organised at Tientsin would
more than suffice to overcome Li Hung-chang and all his host.
The truth of these statements can easily be verified. Long ago,
if he had had the power, he would surely have rebelled; but as
he cannot do so, he contents himself with bullying your Majesty
and disregarding your Imperial Decrees. He totally ignores
the existence of the Empress Dowager and of your Majesty,
a fact which may be inferred from his daring to insult
your intelligence with his mysterious powers of conferring
invisibility.
“I am covered with shame and amazement. My only hope is that
your Majesty will now display the majesty of your wrath, and,
after disclosing Li Hung-chang’s treason to all men, will
put this traitor to death. By this means our troops would at
once be inspired to valour, and the ‘dwarf bandits’ would be
completely annihilated. At the same time, I would ask you to be
so good as to behead me also, as a fitting punishment for this
plain speaking. Your Majesty’s Imperial ancestors are present
in the spirit, and they bear me witness. I am quite easy in my
mind as to the issue, and I therefore lay bare the innermost
thoughts of my heart and lay them before your Majesty,
anxiously begging for your Imperial decision.”
In reply to this outspoken document, the Emperor issued the following
Decree, which bears unmistakable signs of Tzŭ Hsi’s hand. The attack upon
her favourite, Li Lien-ying, was in itself sufficient to bring her to the
front, and there is no doubt that at the time she was keeping very close
watch on the Emperor’s proceedings, and regularly perusing all State
papers.
“Owing to the seriousness of recent events, we have been
particularly anxious of late to receive and attend to the
unprejudiced suggestions of our Censors, and we have abstained
from punishing any of them, even when they have made use of
improper expressions in addressing us. With the gracious
consent of Her Majesty the Empress Dowager, we have given
particular attention to all projects whereby the welfare of our
people may be advanced, and all our people must by this time
be aware of our sincere desire to promote good Government. In
spite of this the Censor, An Wei-chün, has to-day submitted
a Memorial based entirely upon rumours, and containing the
following sentence:—‘How can you possibly justify your position
before your ancestors and to your subjects if you permit the
Empress Dowager still to dictate to you, or to interfere in the
business of the State?’
“Language of this kind reveals depths of audacity unspeakable,
the unbridled licence of a madman’s tongue. Were we to fail in
inflicting stern punishment in a case of this kind, the result
might well be to produce estrangement between Her Majesty the
Empress and ourselves. The Censor is, therefore, dismissed from
office and sentenced to banishment at the post-roads, on the
western frontier where he shall expiate his guilt and serve as
a wholesome warning to others. His Memorial is handed back to
him with the contempt it deserves.”
Tzŭ Hsi felt deeply the humiliation of her country’s defeat by the
Japanese, a race which, as Chinese historians never fail to remind
themselves, took its first lessons in civilisation and culture from
Chinese scholars and artists. Anxious at all costs to avoid another
invasion of Chihli by the conquerors, she approved the Treaty of
Peace, especially when assured by Li Hung-chang that Russia and her
Continental allies would not allow Japan to annex any portion of the
Manchurian Provinces. As above stated, she declined to permit Li to be
made a scapegoat either by her chagrined Manchu kinsmen or by his fierce
critics in the south, for she recognised the difficulty of his position,
and the fact that he was not directly responsible for the deplorable
condition of China’s defences. But, woman-like, she had to blame someone
for the disasters that had deprived her and her capital of festivities
whose splendour should have gone down, making her name glorious, to all
posterity; and it was not surprising, therefore, if she heaped reproaches
on the Emperor for entering upon so disastrous a war without her full
knowledge and consent. It was at this time that began the estrangement
which thenceforward gradually grew into the open hostility and secret
plottings of 1898, the long bitterness between Tzŭ Hsi and her nephew
which was to divide the Palace into camps of strife, and to cease only
with their death. From this time also, as they aver who were in close
touch with the life of the Court, the Emperor’s Consort,[51] Tzŭ Hsi’s
niece, became openly alienated from him, and their relations grew more
severely strained as his reform tendencies developed and took shape.
From 1894 to 1896 there was no noticeable change in the attitude of
the Emperor to his august aunt, nor any diminution of his respectful
attentions, but the man in the street knew well, as he always knows in
China, of the rift in the lute, and when, in 1896, the Emperor’s mother
(Tzŭ’s sister) died, it was realised that the last bond of amity and
possible reconciliation between Kuang-Hsü and the Empress Dowager had
been severed.
XII
THE REFORM MOVEMENT OF 1898
At the beginning of 1898 the Grand Council was composed of the following
officials: Prince Kung, the Emperor’s uncle, Prince Li, whose son was
married to Jung Lu’s daughter, Kang Yi,[52] Liao Shou-heng and Weng
T’ung-ho, the Grand Secretary and ex-tutor to the Emperor. The Empress
Dowager was still leading her life of dignified leisure at the Summer
Palace, generally in company with her two confidential friends, the
wife of Jung Lu and her adopted daughter, the Princess Imperial. By all
accounts she was amusing herself with picnics on the K’un Ming lake,
elaborate theatrical performances and excursions to the neighbouring
temples and hill shrines, devoting her leisure from these pursuits to
verse-making and painting, but keeping herself fully informed, through
Kang Yi and Prince Li, of all that took place in the Forbidden City.
Although leaving the conduct of State affairs to the Emperor, she
occasionally visited the city for a day or two, while the Emperor, on
his side, punctiliously repaired to the Summer Palace five or six times
a month to pay his respects to the Old Buddha. Their relations at this
period were outwardly friendly. Kuang-Hsü never failed to consult Her
Majesty before the issue of any important Decree, and Tzŭ Hsi was usually
most cordial in her manner towards him. She had, it is true, occasion
to reprove him more than once on account of reports which reached her,
through the eunuchs, of his violent temper and alleged bad treatment of
his attendants, reports which were probably instigated and exaggerated by
Li Lien-ying for his own purposes. But Kuang-Hsü, as events subsequently
proved, was fully aware of the iron hand in the velvet glove. Whenever
the Empress came to Peking, he obeyed strictly the etiquette which
required him reverently to kneel at the Palace gates to welcome her. When
visiting her at the Summer Palace, he was not permitted to announce his
arrival in person, but was obliged to kneel at the inner gate and there
await the summons of admission from the Chief Eunuch. Li, who hated him,
delighted in keeping him waiting, sometimes as much as half an hour,
before informing the Old Buddha of his presence. At each of these visits
he was compelled, like any of the Palace officials, to pay his way by
large fees to the eunuchs in attendance on Her Majesty, and as a matter
of fact, these myrmidons treated him with considerably less respect than
they showed to many high Manchu dignitaries. Within the Palace precincts,
the Son of Heaven was indeed regarded as of little account, so that the
initiative and determination which he displayed during the hundred days
of reform in the summer of 1898 came as a disturbing surprise to many at
Court and showed that, given an opportunity, he was not wholly unworthy
of the Yehonala blood of his mother, Tzŭ Hsi’s sister.
The official who had hitherto exercised most influence over the Emperor
was Weng T’ung-ho, the Imperial tutor. He had only rejoined the Grand
Council in November 1894, at the critical time when the disastrous
opening of the war with Japan had brought about the dismissal of the
former Council; but as Imperial tutor he had had the _entrée_ of the
Palace ever since the Emperor was five years old. He was the leader of
the southern party in the capital. A native of Kiangsu (the birthplace
of all the greatest scholars of China during the present Dynasty, and
the centre of national culture), he hated the narrow conservatism of the
Manchus, and included in his dislike the Chinese of the Metropolitan
Provinces, whose politics and point of view are very similar to those of
the Manchus. The strife between north and south really dated from the
beginning of Kuang-Hsü’s reign. The two protagonists on the northern
side were Hsü T’ung, a well-educated Chinese Bannerman (for all
practical purposes, a Manchu at heart) who had been tutor to the Emperor
T’ung-Chih; and Li Hung-tsao, a native of Chihli, who had joined the
Grand Council at the same time as Weng T’ung-ho. The southern party was
led by Weng T’ung-ho and P’an Tsu-yin, the latter a native of Soochow and
a most brilliant scholar and essayist. It is necessary to dwell on this
party strife and its development, because it was the first cause of the
reform movement of 1898, of the subsequent resumption of the Regency by
Tzŭ Hsi, and, eventually, of the Boxer rising.
For more than twenty years these four high officials had been colleagues
in Peking, meeting one another constantly in social as well as official
circles. Their literary arguments, in which the quick-witted southerners
generally scored, were the talk of the capital. All four men bore good
reputations for integrity, so that literary graduates entering official
life were glad to become their _protégés_; but the adherents of the
southern party were the more numerous. This fact aroused the jealousy of
Li and Hsü, which grew until it found vent publicly at the metropolitan
examination for the “Chin Shih,” or Doctor’s, degree in 1899, on which
occasion Li was Grand Examiner and P’an Tsu-yin his chief Associate.
P’an, whose duty it was to select the best essays, recommended a native
of Kiangsu for the high honour of _optimus_, but Li declined to endorse
his decision, and gave the award to a Chihli man. P’an thereupon openly
accused Li of prejudice and unfairness towards the southerner, and
twitted him besides on his second-rate scholarship.
At the time of Russia’s seizure of Ili, in 1880, Hsü T’ung and Weng
T’ung-ho were respectively Presidents of the Boards of Ceremonies and
Works. At a conference of the highest officials, held in the Palace, Weng
declared himself in favour of war with Russia, but Hsü, after promising
to support him, left him in the lurch at the last moment, causing him
discomfiture and loss of face. Hence, bitter enmity between them,
which increased in intensity when they became the leaders of the rival
factions. Weng was also on bad terms with Jung Lu, who had never forgiven
him for the part he played in 1880, when Weng denounced his impious
_liaison_ to the Empress Dowager and brought about his dismissal. Jung
Lu, as a loyal Manchu, naturally favoured the northern faction and his
personal feelings prompted him in the same direction.
The enmity between the rival parties increased steadily in the early
nineties, and when Li and Weng were appointed to the Grand Council, in
1894, the Court itself became involved in their strife, the Empress
siding with the north and the Emperor with the south. At that time people
were wont to speak of the Li faction and the Weng faction, but later they
came to be known as the Empress Dowager’s party, irreverently nicknamed
the “Old Mother set,” and the Emperor’s party, or “Small Lad’s set.” Both
P’an and Li died in 1897. It was after the latter’s death that Hsü T’ung
began to instigate secret and sinister designs against the Emperor, whom
he called a Chinese traitor. Hsü T’ung, having been tutor to T’ung-Chih,
naturally enjoyed considerable influence with the Empress, but Kuang-Hsü
flatly refused to have him on the Grand Council. So great was his
dislike for the old man that he only received him once in audience
between 1887 and 1898. Hsü had a valuable ally in Kang Yi, who hated all
Chinese, southerners and northerners alike, and whose influence was used
effectively to sow dissension between Tzŭ Hsi and the Emperor. In 1897,
Kang Yi urged the Emperor to give orders that the Manchu troops should
be efficiently trained and equipped. Kuang-Hsü replied: “You persist, it
seems, in the exploded idea that the Manchu soldiery are good fighting
men. I tell you that they are absolutely useless.” Kang Yi, highly
incensed, promptly informed the Old Buddha and the Iron-capped Princes
that the Emperor was the enemy of all Manchus, and was plotting to
appoint Chinese to all high offices, a statement which naturally created
a strong feeling against His Majesty at Court.
Even the foreign policy of the Empire felt the effects of this rivalry
of the opposing parties in the capital. The Empress, the Manchus, and
the Chinese Bannermen were in favour of coming to an understanding with
Russia, while the Emperor, Weng, and the southern Chinese, inclined to a
_rapprochement_ with Japan, with a view to imitation of that country’s
successful reforms. Li Hung-chang counted for little at the time, the
fact being that, owing to his alleged responsibility for the war with
Japan, his opinions were at a discount; but such influence as he had
was used against the Emperor’s party. Prince Kung, the _doyen_ of the
Imperial family, to whose ripe judgment the Empress herself would yield
at times, was the only high Manchu to maintain friendly relations with
the Chinese party. A fine scholar himself, he had always admired Weng
T’ung-ho’s literary gifts; the war with Japan had been none of his
seeking, and he had been recalled to the Grand Council, at the same time
as Weng, after a retirement of fourteen years.
The fact is not generally known that Weng T’ung-ho was most anxious at
this time to be sent as Special Envoy to the coronation of the Czar,
for the reason that, realising the Empress Dowager’s growing hostility
towards himself, he wished to be out of harm’s way in the crisis which
he felt to be impending. By a Decree of 1895, Weng had been “excused
from further attendance to instruct His Majesty at the Palace of Happy
Education,” so that he could no longer influence His Majesty, as
heretofore, at all times and seasons, and his rivals were thus enabled
successfully to misrepresent him.
Prince Kung, the head of the Grand Council, went on sick furlough at the
beginning of 1898, afflicted with incurable lung and heart complaints.
The Emperor accompanied the Empress Dowager on three occasions to visit
him at his residence, and ordered the Imperial physicians to attend him.
On the 10th day of the 4th Moon he died, and the following Decree was
issued by Tzŭ Hsi:—
“Prince Kung (Yi Hsin) was my near kinsman; for many years he
has assisted in my Privy Councils. When, with my colleague,
the deceased Empress Tzŭ An, I assumed the Regency at the
beginning of the late Emperor’s reign, the coast provinces
were in rebellion and the Empire in danger, Prince Kung ably
assisted me in restoring order; and I then bestowed upon him
high honours commensurate with his services. For over thirty
years he has supported me with unswerving loyalty, although
for part of that time he took no part in the business of the
State. Again I recalled him to the Council, where he has ever
done yeoman service, despite many and great difficulties. Of
late his old sickness came upon him again, and I therefore
went repeatedly with the Emperor to visit him, hoping for his
fortunate recovery. Of a sudden, yesterday, he passed away, and
thus, at this time of need, a trusty adviser is lost to me.
How describe my grief? To-day I have visited his residence,
there to make oblations. In the remembrance of bygone days I am
completely overcome. I now bestow on him the posthumous title
of ‘Loyal,’ I command that seasonal sacrifices be offered to
his spirit in the Temple of the Virtuous and Good, and I ordain
that the care of his grave shall be a charge on the public
funds. Thus I manifest my sincere regard for my worthy kinsman
and deep sorrow at the loss of my trusted Councillor.”
The above Decree clearly reflected the immediate effect on the Empress
of party factions and intrigues in the Palace, and showed that, though
nominally retired from control of the Government, she was still, whenever
she chose, the autocratic ruler of the Empire and ready to assert herself
in that capacity. The Emperor on this occasion issued a Decree on his own
account, entirely subordinate to Tzŭ Hsi’s, and this in turn was followed
by another, which called upon the Ministers of State to imitate Prince
Kung’s devoted loyalty. It concluded with the significant announcement
that the Prince’s valedictory Memorial had advised the Emperor to follow
the Empress Dowager’s advice in all things, to organise an efficient army
and to purify the administration.
Prince Kung’s death was a serious matter. On the one hand the Manchu
party lost in him its senior representative, an elder whose wise
counsel had guided them, and a statesman whose influence had been
steadily exercised against their tendencies towards an anti-Chinese and
anti-foreign policy. As the last survivor of the sons of Tao-Kuang, he
held, _vis-à-vis_ the Empress Dowager, a position very different from
that of the other princes, his contemporaries. It is probable that, had
he survived, there would have been no Boxer rising. On the other hand,
the Emperor had always deferred to Prince Kung’s advice, and it was not
until after his death that he embarked headlong on the reform schemes
of K’ang Yu-wei and his associates, many of which the Prince, though no
bigoted Conservative, would certainly have condemned. To Weng T’ung-ho
also the loss was serious, as well he knew, for Prince Kung had been his
best friend.
It was shortly after the Prince’s death that Weng recommended K’ang
Yu-wei to the Emperor’s notice, informing His Majesty that K’ang’s
abilities were far superior to his own. Weng undoubtedly hoped that K’ang
would gain the Sovereign’s favour and use it to assist the southern
party against the Manchus, and especially against his arch enemies, Kang
Yi and Hsü T’ung; but he certainly never anticipated that K’ang would go
so far as to advise the Emperor to defy the Old Buddha herself, and to
plot against her sacred person. His idea was simply to gain kudos and to
strengthen his own position and that of his party. The Emperor accepted
his recommendation of K’ang, and summoned the latter to audience on the
28th of the 4th Moon (14th June, 1898).
Weng told his friend and colleague, Liao Shou-heng, that he would await
the result of this audience before coming to a decision as to his own
future movements. If K’ang Yu-wei made a good impression, he would remain
in office; if not, he would resign. He added that if the usual gifts of
the Dragon Festival were sent him by the Emperor, he would feel that
there was no immediate danger in his position. All he asked was that
he might escape the open hostility of the Empress Dowager, such as had
fallen upon the Cantonese Vice-President, Chang Yin-huan, whose dismissal
was expected at any moment. As it happened, however, K’ang Yu-wei and his
friends persuaded the Emperor to insist on retaining Chang Yin-huan in
office, and for the next hundred days he became Kuang-Hsü’s right-hand
man, playing his part, foredoomed, while in the “deep seclusion of her
Palace” the Old Buddha bided her time.
On the 20th of the 4th Moon, Weng T’ung-ho applied for a week’s sick
leave, a face-saving device which showed that he was aware of the
impending storm. On the 23rd, His Majesty issued the first of his Reform
Decrees. He had duly conferred on the subject with the Empress at the
Summer Palace, and had accorded a special audience to Jung Lu. Tzŭ Hsi
assured him that she would raise no obstacles to his proposed policy,
provided that the ancient privileges of the Manchus were not infringed;
at the same time, she insisted on his getting rid of Weng T’ung-ho
without delay, as he was instigating an anti-Manchu movement which, if
it gained headway, might involve the Dynasty in ruin. Jung Lu strongly
recommended to His Majesty a notable progressive, the son of Ch’en
Pao-chen, Governor of Hupei. The fact is of interest because of the idea
prevalent among Europeans, that Jung Lu was ever opposed to reform.
Subsequent events compelled him to turn against the very man whom he
now recommended, but this was not so much on account of a change in his
views, as because the policy of the reformers had developed on unexpected
and dangerous lines. The first Reform Decree was as follows:—
“Of late years many of our Ministers have advocated a policy of
reform, and we have accordingly issued Decrees which provide
for the institution of special examinations in political
economy, for the abolition of useless troops and the old form
of examination for military degrees, as well as for founding
Colleges. No decision has been taken in these matters without
the fullest care, but the country still lacks enlightenment,
and views differ as to the course which reform should follow.
Those who claim to be Conservative patriots consider that all
the old customs should be upheld and new ideas repudiated
without compromise. Such querulous opinions are worthless.
Consider the needs of the times and the weakness of our Empire!
If we continue to drift with our army untrained, our revenues
disorganised, our scholars ignorant, and our artisans without
technical training, how can we possibly hope to hold our own
among the nations, or to cross the gulf which divides the weak
from the strong? It is our belief that a condition of unrest
creates disrespect for authority and produces friction, which
in turn leads to the formation of factions in the State,
hostile to each other as fire and water. Under such conditions,
our Government would find itself confronted by the abuses
and errors of the Sung and Ming Dynasties, to its imminent
peril. The virtuous rulers of remote antiquity did not cling
obstinately to existing needs, but were ready to accept change,
even as one wears grass-cloth garments in summer, and furs in
winter.
“We now issue this special Decree so that all our subjects,
from the Imperial family downwards, may hereafter exert
themselves in the cause of reform. The basis of education will
continue to rest on the canons of the Sages, but at the same
time there must be careful investigation of every branch of
European learning appropriate to existing needs, so that there
may be an end to empty fallacies and that by zeal efficiency
may be attained. Parrot-like plagiarisms of shallow theories
are to be avoided, and catchwords eschewed. What we desire to
attain is the elimination of useless things and the advancement
of learning which, while based on ancient principles, shall
yet move in harmony with the times. The Peking University is
to be made a model for the Empire, and all officials of the
rank of Board Secretaries, officers of the bodyguard, expectant
Magistrates, sons of high officials and Manchus of hereditary
rank, are to be entitled to enter upon a college course in
order that their talents may be trained to meet the needs
of these critical times. No procrastination or favouritism
will be tolerated, nor any disregard of these, the Throne’s
admonitions.”
On the following day was proclaimed the result of what the Emperor fully
intended to be the last examination under the old classical-essay system.
The candidate originally selected for the high honour of _Optimus_
was again a Kiangsu man, but the Empress herself altered the list and
conferred the coveted distinction upon a native of Kueichou province,
to mark her displeasure against the province which had given birth to
Weng T’ung-ho. At the same time a Decree advised members of the Imperial
Clan to seek education in Europe; even Princes of the Blood were to be
encouraged to go abroad and to investigate political conditions. Among
the Manchus, the sensation created by these Decrees was very great; they
felt that, for the first time in history, fundamental things were being
challenged, the ancient bulwarks of the Dynastic privileges in danger.
Had not Mencius himself said: “We have heard of Chinese ideas being
employed to convert barbarians, but have never heard of China being
converted by barbarians.”
On the morning after the issue of the second Decree, Weng T’ung-ho, on
return from his week’s leave, proceeded as usual at 4 A.M. to the Summer
Palace to attend the audience of the Grand Council. He was met by one
of the Secretaries to the Council who, handing him an Imperial Decree,
informed him of his dismissal. It was Tzŭ Hsi’s first open move on behalf
of the Manchu party, and a clear admission of tutelage on the part of the
Emperor. This was the Decree:—
“A Vermilion Rescript.—We have recently had occasion more than
once to observe that the Grand Secretary Weng T’ung-ho has
failed in the proper performance of his duties, and that he is
the object of very general criticism. He has frequently been
impeached, and when questioned by ourselves at audience, he
has allowed his manner to betray his feelings, even daring to
express approval or displeasure in our presence. His conduct
has gradually revealed a wild ambition and a tendency to usurp
our authority: it is no longer possible to retain him on the
Grand Council. Strictly speaking, his conduct merits close
scrutiny and punishment, but bearing in mind that for years he
has served us as our tutor, we are averse to inflicting any
severe penalty. Weng T’ung-ho is ordered forthwith to vacate
his post on the Council, and to return to his native place.
Thus is our clemency made manifest.”
Another Decree proved even more plainly that the Emperor was completely
under Tzŭ Hsi’s orders; it directed that all officials above the second
rank should thenceforward return thanks to Her Majesty in person upon
receiving appointments. This was a new departure, for, since the war with
Japan, she had ceased to hold daily audiences, receiving officials only
on her birthday and other State occasions. Another Decree of the same
day transferred Jung Lu to Tientsin as Viceroy of Chihli. He and K’ang
Yu-wei were received in audience next morning. To Jung Lu the Emperor
gave orders to reorganise the forces in Chihli, adding that he looked to
him for loyal co-operation in the reform movement. The audience to K’ang
Yu-wei, first of many similar interviews (but the only one recorded
in the official Gazette), lasted several hours. K’ang deeply disliked
and feared Tzŭ Hsi, and from the outset he did his best to prejudice
the Emperor against her. He reiterated his opinion that her sympathy
for reform was merely a feint, and he roundly denounced her wanton
extravagance and dissipated life at the Summer Palace. He described
the unpopularity of the Manchu rule in the south as chiefly due to the
people’s contempt for Her Majesty, and compared her private life to that
of the notorious Empress Wu of the T’ang Dynasty. He advised Kuang-Hsü to
relegate her permanently to retirement, she being the chief obstacle to
reform. The Emperor fell speedily and completely under K’ang’s influence,
and none of his subsequent Edicts was issued without K’ang’s assistance.
In the light of later knowledge, and of almost universal Chinese opinion
on this subject, it is difficult to acquit K’ang Yu-wei of personal and
interested motives, of a desire to wield power in the State as the result
of his influence over the Emperor, whose emotional pliability he made to
serve his own ends. Looked at in this light, his denunciations of the
Empress Dowager and Jung Lu were evidently less the outcome of patriotic
indignation than of his recognition of the fact that, so long as Tzŭ Hsi
remained in power, his ambitions could never be achieved, nor his own
position secured.
XIII
THE HUNDRED DAYS OF REFORM
Immediately following upon K’ang Yu-wei’s first audience, reform Decrees
followed one another in rapid succession. The old examination system
which had been in force, with one brief intermission (in K’ang-Hsi’s
reign), since the days of the Sung Dynasty, was definitely abolished.
For the future, said the Emperor, papers on practical subjects were
to be set at the public examinations, and while the classics were to
remain as a basis for the literary curriculum, candidates for the public
service would be expected to display a knowledge of the history of other
countries and of contemporary politics. It was at this juncture that the
President of the Board of Rites, Hsü Ying-k’uei (who, though a Cantonese,
was a stalwart Conservative), was denounced by the Censors Sung Po-lu
and Yang Shen-hsiu for obstructing the decreed reforms. They begged the
Emperor to “display his divine wrath by immediately reducing Hsü to the
rank of a fourth class official as a warning to other offenders.” “We
have noted,” they said, “Your Majesty’s zeal in the cause of reform and
your gracious desire to promote improved education and friendly relations
with foreign Powers. The Board of Rites is in charge of all the colleges
in the Empire and the Tsungli Yamên directs our policy. Hsü Ying-k’uei,
President of the Board of Rites and a Minister of the Tsungli Yamên,
is a man of second-rate ability, arrogant, ignorant, and hopelessly
obstinate. Your Majesty, being deeply conscious of the vital need for
permanent and radical reform, and anxious to encourage men of talent, has
instituted a special examination in political economy, but Hsü Ying-ku’ei
has dared to cast disparagement on your Majesty’s orders and has openly
stated that such an examination is a useless innovation. It is his
intention to allow as few candidates as possible to pass this examination
so as to render it unpopular. He is similarly opposing every one of your
Majesty’s proposed reforms. He vilifies western learning in conversation
with his _protégés_, and is the sworn foe of all progressive scholars.
Your Majesty’s chief complaint is that such scholars are too few in
number, but Hsü Ying-ku’ei’s chief hope is to suppress the few there are.”
“In the Tsungli Yamên a single phrase wrongly expressed may well
precipitate a war; so important are the duties there to be performed
that no one unacquainted with foreign affairs, and the ways of those
who seek to injure us, can possibly render effective service to the
State. Hsü Ying-ku’ei is far from being a distinguished Chinese scholar;
nevertheless he despises European learning. His boundless conceit is a
menace to our country’s interests and dignity. It seems to us a monstrous
thing that a man of this stamp should be employed at the Tsungli Yamên,
and that his removal from the Board would be of incalculable benefit. He
deserves to be removed from office for blocking reform and impeding the
execution of your Majesty’s plans, if only as a warning to reactionary
officials, who are all a danger to their country. If your Majesty will
reduce him to the fourth official rank we shall escape the ridicule of
foreign nations, and the cause of reform will be greatly advanced.”
On receipt of the above Memorial, Kuang-Hsü commanded Hsü Ying-ku’ei
to submit a personal explanation of his conduct. The following is the
text of his Memorial in reply, which shows K’ang Yu-wei in a light less
favourable than that in which his admirers represented him:—
“I feel that because of my uprightness I have made myself
enemies, and I am grateful to your Majesty for thus allowing
me to defend myself. The Censors accuse me of thinking
disparagingly of your Majesty’s orders. How can they know what
is in my mind? Their accusations are evidently worthless. Li
Hung-chang and myself were strongly in favour of the original
scheme for instituting an examination for political economy.
I observed, however, that great care must be exercised in
carrying out this new idea, and that the selection for office
of too many successful candidates might endanger the main
object of the reform. While in no way desiring to make the
standard prohibitively high, I was determined not to court
popularity by consenting to making the path of these candidates
too easy. How can these Censors know that we are opposed to the
proposals of reform before our Memorials have seen the light?
Their remarks are based on pure conjecture and prejudice.
Moreover, many of your Majesty’s Decrees in no way concern the
Board of Rites, _e.g._, the contemplated reform of military
examinations and the abolition of sinecures in the army. Again,
the Memorialists accuse me of vilifying western learning in
conversation with my _protégés_, and of being the sworn foe
of progressive scholars. As a native of Canton province, I
have had no little experience of foreign affairs, and have
constantly had occasion to recommend for employment men well
versed in the arts and sciences of the west; for instance, Hua
T’ing-chun, for his knowledge of marksmanship, and Fang Yao for
his skill in the manufacture of guns. With all my _protégés_
my constant object has been to encourage them to acquire a
thorough knowledge of current politics and to eschew forms of
learning that are ornamental and useless.
“When the Censors accuse me of being the foe of scholars, they
evidently refer to K’ang Yu-wei. As a native of my province
K’ang was well known to me in his youth as a worthless fellow.
After taking his degree and returning to his home, he was for
ever inciting people to litigation; his reputation was evil.
On coming to Peking he made friends with the Censors and
intrigued with certain persons in high office, making great
capital of his alleged knowledge of European science, in the
hope of obtaining a lucrative post. On three occasions he tried
to secure an interview with me, but I knew the man too well,
and declined to receive him. He then founded a society at the
Canton Guild-house, enrolling over two hundred members; but I
caused it to be suppressed, fearing that disturbances would
come of it. Hence K’ang’s hatred of me. When your Majesty
summoned him to audience, he boasted to his fellow-provincials
that high promotion was in store for him; he was keenly
disappointed at getting nothing higher than a clerkship in
the Tsungli Yamên. He has been spreading lies about me and
inciting the Censors to attack me in the hope of ousting me,
one of his chiefs, from my position. That is quite in keeping
with his character. The Grand Secretary, Li Hung-tsao, used to
say that the flaunting of western knowledge was used only too
often by persons who had no real education therein; persons who
hoodwinked the public and were accepted at their own valuation.
K’ang Yu-wei has got hold of many wild and fantastic ideas,
and is trying to make a reputation for himself by plagiarising
hackneyed articles from European newspapers and disparaging
our country’s ancient institutions. His proposals are utterly
unpractical, and his motives will not bear investigation. If he
is retained at the Tsungli Yamên, instead of being cashiered
and sent back to Canton, as he deserves, he will inevitably
bring about complications by the betrayal of State secrets. If
he remains in Peking he and his associates will assuredly plot
together for evil, their only object being to promote party
strife and to foment intrigues.
“The danger with which his revolutionary tendencies threaten
the State is indeed a most serious matter, and the Censors are,
for once, quite right in describing me as his sworn foe.
“The Censors also accuse me of despising European learning. At
audience with your Majesty I have frequently laid stress on
the importance of opening mines, building ships and providing
munitions of war; it is therefore known to your Majesty how
baseless is this charge. But since the negotiations which
followed the seizure of Kiaochao Bay, the transaction of the
Tsungli Yamên’s business has become increasingly difficult,
nor will our position be improved by this futile wrangling. I
would, therefore, humbly ask your Majesty to relieve me of my
duties at the Yamên, so that calumny may be hushed and that
I may cease to occupy a position for which I am eminently
unfitted. This is my humble prayer.”
The Emperor was greatly incensed at Hsü Ying-ku’ei’s outspoken
denunciation of K’ang Yu-wei, but could not as yet summon up courage to
offend the Empress Dowager by dismissing from office one who enjoyed her
favour and protection. Tzŭ Hsi perused both Memorials and was secretly
impressed by Hsü’s warning in regard to the revolutionary tendencies of
the reformers. From that day, though openly unopposed to reform, she
became suspicious of K’ang’s influence over the Emperor, but preferred
to bide her time, never doubting that, at a word from her, Kuang-Hsü
would dismiss him. She gave a special audience to Wang Wen-shao, who had
come from Tientsin after handing over the Chihli Viceroyalty to Jung Lu.
Wang stoutly supported Hsü Ying-ku’ei’s attitude of caution in regard to
several of the Emperor’s proposed measures. Following upon this audience,
the Emperor issued a Decree permitting Hsü to retain his posts, but
warning him to show more energy in future both at the Board of Rites and
at the Tsungli Yamên. Hsü regarded this as a decided triumph, due to
Tzŭ Hsi’s protection, and became more than ever opposed to innovations;
this attitude was strengthened when Huai Ta Pu, his Manchu colleague at
the Board of Rites and a first cousin of Tzŭ Hsi, came out as a strong
supporter of the ultra-Conservatives.
The Emperor’s next Decree provided for the reorganisation of the effete
Manchu troops of the Metropolitan Province and for the founding of
colleges and high schools in the provinces, to correspond to the Peking
University.
A reactionary Memorial by the Censor Wen T’i[53] charged his colleagues
Sung Po-lu and Yang Shen-hsiu with making their personal jealousy of Hsü
Ying-ku’ei an excuse for deluding the Emperor and setting him at variance
with the Empress Dowager. This greatly angered His Majesty, who promptly
had the offender dismissed from the Censorate for stirring up that very
party strife which his Memorial professed to denounce. Wen T’i, thus
rebuked, induced Huai Ta Pu to go out to the Summer Palace and endeavour
to enlist the Old Buddha’s sympathy in his behalf. She, however, declined
to move in the matter, having at the moment no specific ground of
complaint against the Emperor and preferring to give the Progressives all
the rope they wanted; but she caused Yü Lu, one of her old _protégés_, to
be appointed to the Grand Council, and this official kept her regularly
informed of everything that occurred in Peking. He belonged to the Kang
Yi faction of extremists and disapproved of reform with all the dogged
stupidity of his class. Later, in 1900, as Viceroy of Chihli, he rendered
no little assistance to Kang Yi’s schemes for massacring all foreigners,
and was a noted leader of the Boxer movement. With three reactionaries
on the Council of the stamp of Kang Yi, Wang Wen-shao and Yü Lu, there
was small chance of any genuine opportunity or honest purpose of reform,
whatever the Emperor might choose to decree, but before the Conservatives
could assume the offensive, they had to win over Tzŭ Hsi definitely and
openly to their side, and with her Jung Lu.
At about this time Kuang-Hsü reprimanded another Censor for a trifling
error in caligraphy, the incorrect writing of a character.[54]
Nevertheless, a week later, a Decree was issued, clearly showing the
influence of K’ang Yu-wei, in which it was ordered that caligraphy should
no longer form a special subject at the public examinations. “In certain
branches of the public service neat handwriting was no doubt of great
value, but it would in future be made the subject of special examinations
for the appointment of copyists.”
On the 8th day of the 6th Moon, a Decree ordered arrangements to be
made for the publication of official Gazettes all over the Empire,
and K’ang Yu-wei was placed in charge of the Head Office at Shanghai.
These Gazettes were to be official newspapers, and their object was
the extension of general knowledge. They were to receive Government
subsidies; copies were to be regularly submitted for the Emperor’s
perusal; opinions were to be freely expressed, and all abuses fearlessly
exposed. K’ang Yu-wei was directed to draw up Press regulations in this
sense.
On the 23rd of the 6th Moon, another vigorous Decree exhorted the
official class to turn its attention seriously to reforms. Herein
the Emperor declared that the procrastination hitherto displayed was
most disheartening. “Stagnation,” said the Edict, “is the sign of
grave internal sickness; hopeless abuses are bred from this palsied
indifference. An earnest reformer like Ch’en Pao-chen, the Governor of
Hupei, becomes a target for the violent abuse of officials and gentry.
Henceforward I would have you all sympathise with my anxiety and work
earnestly together, so that we may profit by our past reverses and
provide for a brighter future.”
Another Decree ordered the institution of naval colleges as a step
preliminary to the reconstruction of China’s fleet. Railway and mining
bureaus were established in Peking, and the Cantonese reformer, Liang
Ch’i-Ch’ao, was given charge of a Translation Department, to publish
standard foreign works on political economy and natural science, a grant
of one thousand taels per mensem being allowed to cover his expenses.
But an innovation more startling than all these, broke upon the
upholders of the old _régime_ in a Decree issued in response to a
Memorial by Jung Lu, who was all in favour of reform in military matters.
It was therein announced that the Emperor would escort the Empress
Dowager by train to Tientsin on the 5th day of the 9th Moon, and there
hold a review of the troops. The Conservatives were aghast at the idea of
their Majesties travelling by train, but Tzŭ Hsi, who had always enjoyed
riding on the miniature railway in the Winter Palace, was delighted
at the prospect of so novel an excursion. But if Manchu propriety was
shocked at this proposal, a still heavier blow was dealt it by the next
Decree, which abolished a number of obsolete and useless Government
offices and sinecures, fat jobs which, for generations, had maintained
thousands of idlers in the enjoyment of lucrative squeezes, a burden on
the State.
This Decree was loudly denounced as contrary to the traditions of the
Manchu Dynasty, and from all sides came urgent appeals to the Old
Buddha to protect the privileges of the ruling class, and to order its
cancellation. Yet another bolt fell two days later, when all the high
officials of the Board of Rites, including Hsü Ying-ku’ei and the Empress
Dowager’s kinsman, Huai Ta Pu, were summarily cashiered for having
suppressed a Memorial by the Secretary, Wang Chao. In this document it
was suggested that the Emperor, in company with the Empress Dowager,
should travel abroad, beginning with Japan and concluding with a tour in
Europe. Realising that “the craft of Demetrius was in danger,” nearly all
the Conservatives holding high office proceeded in a body to the Summer
Palace and told the Empress Dowager that the only hope of saving the
country lay in her resumption of the supreme power. The Old Buddha bade
them wait—the sands were running out, but she was not yet ready to move.
K’ang Yu-wei, realising that there was danger ahead, took advantage of
what he mistook for indecision on the part of Tzŭ Hsi to induce the
Emperor to rebel against her authority. Once more he assured Kuang-Hsü
that her professed sympathy for reform was all a sham, and that, on
the contrary, it was she herself who was the chief obstacle to China’s
awakening, her influence being really the prime factor in the country’s
corruption and lethargy. Why should she be permitted to waste millions
of Government funds yearly in the upkeep of her lavish establishment at
the Summer Palace? He advised the Emperor by a _coup de main_ to surround
her residence, seize her person, and confine her for the rest of her
days on a certain small island in the Winter Palace lake. Thereafter he
should issue a Decree recounting her many misdeeds and proclaiming his
intention never again to permit her to have any part in the Government.
This conversation was held in a private apartment of the Palace, but
there is every reason to believe that it was reported to Tzŭ Hsi by
one of the eunuch spies employed by Li Lien-ying for that purpose.
The Emperor foolishly allowed himself to be led into approval of this
plot, but decided to await the Court’s proposed trip to Tientsin before
putting it into execution. He knew that to ensure success for the scheme
he must be able to command the services of the troops, and he realised
that so long as Jung Lu was in command of the foreign-drilled forces of
Chihli, he would never consent to their lifting a finger against his
lifelong benefactress. Herein, in the Emperor’s opinion, lay the main
obstacle that confronted him. The real danger, that lay in Tzŭ Hsi’s
enormous personal influence and fertility of resource, he appears to have
under-rated, mistaking her inaction for indecision.
For the moment he continued to issue new Edicts, one ordering the making
of macadamised roads in Peking, another the enrolment of militia for
purposes of national defence, while a third authorised Manchus to leave
Peking, should they so wish, to earn their living in the provinces. On
the 27th of the 7th Moon, appeared the last of his important Reform
Decrees—a document pathetic in the light of subsequent events.
“In promoting reforms, we have adopted certain European
methods, because, while China and Europe are both alike in
holding that the first object of good government should be the
welfare of the people, Europe has travelled further on this
road than we have, so that, by the introduction of European
methods, we simply make good China’s deficiencies. But our
Statesmen and scholars are so ignorant of what lies beyond
our borders that they look upon Europe as possessing no
civilisation. They are all unaware of those numerous branches
of western knowledge whose object it is to enlighten the minds
and increase the material prosperity of the people. Physical
well-being and increased longevity of the race are thereby
secured for the masses.
“Is it possible that I, the Emperor, am to be regarded as a
mere follower after new and strange ideas because of my thirst
for reform? My love for the people, my children, springs from
the feeling that God has confided them to me and that to my
care they have been given in trust by my illustrious Ancestors.
I shall never feel that my duty as Sovereign is fulfilled until
I have raised them all to a condition of peaceful prosperity.
Moreover, do not the foreign Powers surround our Empire,
committing frequent acts of aggression? Unless we learn and
adopt the sources of their strength, our plight cannot be
remedied. The cause of my anxiety is not fully appreciated
by my people, because the reactionary element deliberately
misrepresents my objects, spreading the while baseless rumours
so as to disturb the minds of men. When I reflect how deep is
the ignorance of the masses of the dwellers in the innermost
parts of the Empire on the subject of my proposed reforms, my
heart is filled with care and grief. Therefore do I hereby
now proclaim my intentions, so that the whole Empire may know
and believe that their Sovereign is to be trusted and that
the people may co-operate with me in working for reform and
the strengthening of our country. This is my earnest hope.
I command that the whole of my Reform Decrees be printed on
Yellow paper and distributed for the information of all men.
The District Magistrates are henceforward privileged to
submit Memorials to me through the Provincial Viceroys, so
that I may learn the real needs of the people. Let this Decree
be exhibited in the front hall of every public office in the
Empire so that all men may see it.”
But the sands had run out. Tzŭ Hsi now emerged from “the profound
seclusion of her Palace” and Kuang-Hsü’s little hour was over.
XIV
THE _COUP D’ÉTAT_ OF 1898
In August 1898—at the end of the 7th Moon—the position of affairs in
the Palace (known only to a few) was that the Empress Dowager had been
won over to the reactionary party; she was postponing a decisive step,
however, until she and the Emperor made their proposed visit to Tientsin
in the 9th Moon. It was her intention there to confer with Jung Lu before
resuming the Regency, because of the unmistakable hostility towards her
then prevailing in the southern provinces, which she wished to allay,
as far as possible, by avoiding any overt measures of usurpation until
her preparations were made. On the 1st of the 8th Moon, the Emperor,
who was then in residence at the Summer Palace, received in audience
Yüan Shih-k’ai, the Judicial Commissioner of Chihli, and discussed with
him at great length the political needs of the Empire. Yüan (then in
his fortieth year) had owed his rapid advancement to the protection of
the great Viceroy Li Hung-chang; nevertheless, among his rivals and
enemies there were many who attributed the disastrous war with Japan
in 1894 to his arbitrary conduct of affairs as Imperial Resident in
Corea. There is no doubt that his reports and advice on the situation
at Seoul precipitated, if they did not cause, the crisis, leading the
Chinese Government to despatch troops into the country in the face of
Japan’s desire and readiness for war, and thus to the extinction of
China’s sovereignty in the Hermit Kingdom; but the fact had not impaired
Yüan’s personal prestige or his influence at Court. As a result of
this audience the Emperor was completely won over by Yüan’s professed
interest in the cause of reform, and was convinced that in him he had
secured a powerful supporter. His Majesty had already realised that he
must now reckon with the Old Buddha’s uncompromising opposition; quite
recently she had severely rebuked him for even noticing K’ang Yu-wei’s
suggestion that he should act more on his own authority. Jung Lu, he
knew, would always loyally support his Imperial mistress; and there
was not one prominent Manchu in the Empire, and, as far as Peking was
concerned, hardly a Chinese, who would dare to oppose the Old Buddha,
if once she declared herself actively on the side of reaction. The only
two high officials in Peking on whom he could confidently reckon for
sympathy and support were the Cantonese Chang Yin-huan, and Li Tuan-fen,
a native of Kueichou. But if he could obtain control of the Northern
foreign-drilled army, the reactionary party might yet be overthrown. To
secure this end it was essential that Jung Lu, the Governor-General of
Chihli and Commander-in-Chief of the foreign-drilled forces, should be
put out of the way, and this before the Empress could be warned of the
plot. The Emperor therefore proposed to have Jung Lu put to death in his
Yamên at Tientsin, and then swiftly to bring a force of 10,000 of his
disciplined troops to the capital, who would confine the Empress Dowager
to the Summer Palace. At the same time the most prominent reactionaries
in Peking, _i.e._, Kang Yi, Yü Lu, Huai T’a Pu and Hsü Ying-ku’ei were
to be seized at their residences and hurried off to the prison of the
Board of Punishments. This was the scheme suggested by K’ang Yu-wei, the
Censor Yang Shen-hsiu, and the secretaries of the Grand Council, T’an
Ssu-t’ung, Lin-Hsü, Yang Jui, and Liu Kuang-ti. At this first audience
Yüan Shih-k’ai was informed of the Emperor’s determination to maintain
and enforce his reform policy, and was asked whether he would be loyal
to his sovereign if placed in command of a large force of troops. “Your
servant will endeavour to recompense the Imperial favour,” he replied,
“even though his merit be only as a drop of water in the ocean or a grain
of sand in the desert; he will faithfully perform the service of a dog or
a horse while there remains breath in his body.”
Completely reassured by Yüan’s words and earnest manner and his
apparently genuine zeal for reform, the Emperor straightway issued the
following Decree:—
“At the present time army reform is of all things most
essential, and the judicial commissioner of Chihli, Yüan
Shih-k’ai, is an energetic administrator and thoroughly earnest
in the matter of training our forces. We therefore accord him
the rank of Expectant Vice-President of a Board and place him
in special charge of the business of army reform. He is to
memorialise from time to time regarding any measures which
he may desire to introduce. Under the present conditions of
our Empire it is of the first importance that our defences
be strengthened, and it behoves Yüan Shih-k’ai therefore to
display all possible energy and zeal in the training of our
troops, so that an efficient army may be organised, and the
Throne’s determination to secure homogeneous forces be loyally
supported.”
At this first audience there had been no mention of the proposed removal
of Jung Lu. Scarcely had Yüan left the Jen Shou (Benevolent Old Age)
Palace Hall, than the Empress Dowager summoned him to her own apartments,
and closely questioned him as to what the Emperor had said. “By all means
let the army be reformed,” said the Old Buddha; “the Decree is sensible
enough, but His Majesty is in too great a hurry, and I suspect him of
cherishing some deep design. You will await a further audience with him,
and then receive my instructions.”
The Empress then sent for the Emperor, and informed him that he must
have K’ang Yu-wei placed under arrest for speaking disrespectfully of
her private life and morals. She refrained from informing him that she
knew of his design to deprive her of power, and she was so far unaware
of the extent of the plot against herself and Jung Lu. She reproached
him, however, in general terms for his evident and increasing lack of
filial duty towards herself. The Emperor meekly promised to comply with
her wishes as to K’ang Yu-wei’s arrest, but late that same evening, while
the Empress Dowager was entertaining herself at a water picnic on the
K’un Ming Lake, he despatched his confidential eunuch, Sung Yu-lien, into
Peking with the following Decree, drafted in His Majesty’s own unformed
and childish handwriting:—
“On a previous occasion we commanded the Secretary of the
Board of Works, K’ang Yu-wei, to take charge of the Government
Gazette Bureau at Shanghai. We learn with astonishment that
he has not yet left Peking. We are well aware of the crisis
through which the Empire is passing, and have been anxious
on this account to obtain the services of men well versed in
political economy, with whom to discuss improved methods of
government. We granted one audience to K’ang Yu-wei (_sic_: as
a matter of fact K’ang was received by His Majesty on several
occasions) because of his special knowledge, and we appointed
him to take charge of the Government Gazette Bureau for the
reason that newspapers are one of the most important factors in
national education and progress. His duties are evidently of no
light responsibility, and funds having been specially raised
for this enterprise, we command him now to betake himself with
all despatch to Shanghai; he shall on no account procrastinate
any longer.”
K’ang Yu-wei received the Decree, realised its significance, and left
Peking by the first train next morning, arriving safely at Tongku, where
he boarded a coasting steamer for Shanghai.[55] When the Empress heard
of his departure she was furious, and telegraphed to Jung Lu to arrest
K’ang, but for some unexplained reason (the instructions reached him
before K’ang could have arrived at Tientsin) Jung Lu took no steps to
do so. At this time he was unaware of the plot against his life, or he
would hardly have shown such magnanimity. K’ang Yu-wei never gave him
any credit for it and has always denounced Jung Lu as second only in
villainy to the Empress Dowager, an arch enemy of reform and reformers.
As a matter of fact Jung Lu was one of the high officials who originally
recommended K’ang to the notice of the Emperor, and till the day of his
death he always alluded to himself jocularly as one of the _K’ang T’ang_,
or K’ang Yu-wei party, to the great amusement of the Old Buddha, who
would jokingly ask him what news he had of his friend K’ang, the traitor
and rebel. That morning, the 2nd of the Moon, audience was given to the
reformer Lin Hsü and to Yüan Shih-k’ai, who again assured the Emperor
of his complete devotion. His Majesty then left for the Forbidden City,
intending to carry out his plans against the Empress from there rather
than from the Summer Palace, where nearly every eunuch was a spy in her
service.
It is evident that, so far, the Emperor by no means despaired of his
chances of success, as two Decrees were issued next morning, one ordering
the teaching of European languages in the public schools, and the other
requiring purer administration on the part of district magistrates.
On the morning of the 5th, Yüan Shih-k’ai had a final audience, before
leaving for Tientsin. His Majesty received him in the Palace of Heavenly
Purity (Ch’ien Ch’ing Kung) of the Forbidden City. Every precaution was
taken to prevent the conversation being overheard. Seated for the last
time on the great lacquered Dragon Throne, so soon to be reoccupied by
the Empress Dowager, in the gloomy throne room which the morning light
could scarcely penetrate, His Majesty told Yüan Shih-k’ai the details of
the commission with which he had decided to entrust him. He was to put
Jung Lu to death and then, returning immediately to the capital with the
troops under his command, to seize and imprison the Empress Dowager. The
Emperor gave him a small arrow, the symbol of his authority to carry out
the Imperial orders, and bade him proceed with all haste to Tientsin,
there to arrest Jung Lu in his Yamên and see to his instant decapitation.
Kuang Hsü also handed him a Decree whereby, upon completion of his
mission, he was appointed Viceroy of Chihli _ad interim_, and ordered to
Peking for further audience.
Yüan promised faithful obedience, and, without speaking to anyone, left
Peking by the first train. Meantime the Old Buddha was due to come in
from the I-ho Yüan to the Winter Palace that morning at 8 o’clock, to
perform sacrifice at the altar to the God of Silkworms, and the Emperor
dutifully repaired to the Ying Hsiu Gate of the Western Park, where
the Lake Palace is situated, to receive Her Majesty as she entered the
precincts.
Yüan reached Tientsin before noon, and proceeded at once to Jung Lu’s
Yamên. He asked Jung Lu whether he regarded him as a faithful blood
brother. (The two men had taken the oath of brotherhood several years
before.) “Of course I do,” replied the Viceroy. “You well may, for the
Emperor has sent me to kill you, and instead, I now betray his scheme,
because of my loyalty to the Empress Dowager and of my affection for
you.” Jung Lu, apparently unaffected by the message, merely expressed
surprise that the Old Buddha could have been kept in ignorance of all
these things, and added that he would go at once to the capital and see
the Empress Dowager that same evening. Yüan handed him the Emperor’s
Decree, and Jung Lu, travelling by special train, reached Peking soon
after 5 P.M.
He went directly to the Lake Palace, and entered the Empress’s residence,
boldly disregarding the strict etiquette which forbids any provincial
official from visiting the capital without a special summons by Edict,
and the still stricter rules that guard the _entrée_, of the Palace.
Un-ushered he entered the Empress’s presence, and kowtowing thrice,
exclaimed, “Sanctuary, your Majesty!” “What sanctuary do you require
in the Forbidden precincts, where no harm can come to you, and where
you have no right to be?” replied the Old Buddha. Jung Lu proceeded to
lay before her all the details of the plot. Grasping the situation and
rising immediately to its necessities with the courage and masculine
intelligence that enabled her to overcome all obstacles, she directed him
to send word secretly to the leaders of the Conservative party, summoning
them to immediate audience in the Palace by the Lake. (The Emperor was
still in the Forbidden City.) In less than two hours the whole of the
Grand Council, several of the Manchu princes and nobles (Prince Ch’ing,
with his usual fine “flair” for a crisis, had applied for sick leave and
was therefore absent) and the high officials of the Boards, including the
two Ministers whom the Emperor had cashiered (Hsü Ying-ku’ei and Huai Ta
Pu) were assembled in the presence of the Empress. On their knees, the
assembled officials besought her to resume the reins of government and
to save their ancient Empire from the evils of a barbarian civilisation.
It was speedily arranged that the guards in the Forbidden City should
be replaced by men from Jung Lu’s own corps, and that, in the meantime,
he should return to his post in Tientsin and await further orders. The
conference broke up at about midnight. The Emperor was due to enter the
Chung Ho Hall of the Palace at 5.30 the next morning to peruse the litany
drawn up by the Board of Rites, which he was to recite next day at the
autumnal sacrifice to the Tutelary Deities. After leaving that hall, he
was seized by the guards and eunuchs, conveyed to the Palace on the small
island in the middle of the lake (the “Ocean Terrace”) and informed that
the Empress Dowager would visit him later. The following Decree was
thereupon issued by the Empress Dowager in the Emperor’s name:—
“The nation is now passing through a crisis, and wise guidance
is needed in all branches of the public service. WE ourselves
have laboured diligently, night and day, to perform OUR
innumerable duties, but in spite of all OUR anxious energy and
care WE are in constant fear lest delay should be the undoing
of the country. WE now respectfully recall the fact that Her
Imperial Majesty the Empress Dowager has on two occasions since
the beginning of the reign of H. M. T’ung-Chih, performed the
functions of Regent, and that in her administrations of the
Government she displayed complete and admirable qualities of
perfection which enabled her successfully to cope with every
difficulty that arose. Recollecting the serious burden of the
responsibility WE owe to OUR ancestors and to the nation, WE
have repeatedly besought Her Majesty to condescend once more to
administer the Government. Now she has graciously honoured US
by granting OUR prayer, a blessing indeed for all OUR subjects.
From this day forth Her Majesty will transact the business of
Government in the side hall of the Palace, and on the day after
to-morrow WE ourselves at the head of OUR Princes and Ministers
shall perform obeisance before Her in the Hall of Diligent
Government. The Yamêns concerned shall respectfully make the
arrangements necessary for this ceremonial. The words of the
Emperor.”
Another Decree followed close upon the above, cashiering the Censor Sung
Po-lu, on the ground of his generally evil reputation and recommendation
of bad characters (_i.e._, the reformer Liang Ch’i-ch’ao). The Empress
had a special grudge against this Censor because he had ventured to
impeach her morals in a recent memorial, but as he had taken no part in
the conspiracy against her person she spared his life.
[Illustration: CIRCULAR THRONE HALL IN THE GROUNDS OF THE LAKE PALACE
LOOTED BY ALLIED TROOPS IN 1900.
_Photo, Betines, Peking._]
[Illustration: PAVILION ON LAKE TO THE WEST OF FORBIDDEN CITY.
_Photo, Betines, Peking._]
Tzŭ Hsi in due course proceeded to the “Ocean Terrace,” accompanied only
by Li Lien-ying, who had been ordered to replace the Emperor’s eunuchs
by creatures of his own. (Kuang Hsü’s former attendants were either put
to death or banished to the post roads.) A Manchu who heard an account
of the interview from Duke Kuei Hsiang, Tz’u Hsi’s younger brother, is
our authority for what occurred at this dramatic meeting. The Empress
Dowager bluntly informed Kuang Hsü that she had decided to spare his life
and, for the present at any rate, to allow him to retain the throne. He
would, however, be kept henceforward under strict surveillance, and every
word of his would be reported to her. As to his schemes of reform, which
at first she had encouraged, little dreaming to what depths of folly his
infatuate presumption would lead him, they would all be repealed. How
dared he forget what great benefits he owed her, his elevation to the
throne and her generosity in allowing him to administer the government,
he a poor puppet, who had no right to be Emperor at all, and whom she
could unmake at will? There was not, she said, a single Manchu in high
place but wished his removal, and urged her to resume the Regency. True,
he had sympathisers among the Chinese, traitors all; with them she would
deal in due course. Kuang Hsü’s secondary consort (the Chen Fei or Pearl
Concubine, the only one of his wives with whom he seems to have been on
affectionate terms) knelt then before Tzŭ Hsi, imploring her to spare the
Emperor further reproaches. She actually dared to suggest that he was,
after all, the lawful Sovereign and that not even the Empress Dowager
could set aside the mandate of Heaven. Tzŭ Hsi angrily dismissed her from
the Presence, ordering her to be confined in another part of the Palace,
where she remained until, in 1900, there came an opportunity in which the
vindictive Empress took summary revenge on the presumptuous concubine.[56]
The Empress Consort, with whom Kuang Hsü was hardly on speaking terms,
was commanded to remain with him. She, as Tzŭ Hsi’s niece, could be
trusted to spy upon the Emperor and report all his doings. He was allowed
to see no one but her and the eunuchs in attendance, except in the
presence of the Empress Dowager.
To the end of his life Kuang Hsü blamed Yüan Shih-k’ai, and him alone,
for having betrayed him. To Yüan he owed his humiliation, the end of all
his cherished plans of government and the twenty-three months of solitary
confinement which he had to endure on the “Ocean Terrace.” Almost his
last words, as he lay dying, were to bid his brothers remember his long
agony and promise to be revenged upon the author of his undoing. Of Jung
Lu he said that it was but natural that he should consider first his duty
to the Empress Dowager and seek to warn her; and, after all, as he had
planned Jung Lu’s death, he could hardly expect from him either devotion
or loyalty. The Old Buddha’s resentment was also natural; he had plotted
against her and failed. But Yüan Shih-k’ai had solemnly sworn loyalty and
obedience. The Emperor never willingly spoke to him again, even when, as
Viceroy of Chihli, Yüan came to the height of his power.
To-day Yüan lives in retirement, and under the constant shadow of fear;
for the Emperor’s brother, the Regent, has kept his promise. Such are
the intricate humanities of the inner circle around and about the Dragon
Throne, the never-ending problem of the human equation as a factor in the
destinies of peoples.
XV
TZŬ HSI RESUMES THE REGENCY (1898)
Kuang Hsü’s reign was over; there remained to him only the Imperial
title. He had had his chance; in the enthusiasm of youth and new ideas
he had played a desperate game against the powers of darkness in high
places, and he had lost. Once more, as after the death of T’ung-Chih, Tzŭ
Hsi could make a virtue of her satisfied ambitions. She had given her
nephew a free hand, she had retired from the field, leaving him to steer
the ship of State: if he had now steered it into troublous and dangerous
seas, if, by common consent, she were again called to take the helm, this
was the doing of Heaven and no fault of hers. She could no more be blamed
for Kuang Hsü’s folly than for the vicious habits and premature death
of her son, which had brought her back to power 23 years before. It was
clear (and there were many voices to reassure her of the fact) that the
stars in their courses were working for the continuance of her unfettered
authority, and that any trifling assistance which she might have given
them would not be too closely scrutinised.
Kuang Hsü’s reign was over; but his person (frail, melancholy tenement)
remained, and Tzŭ Hsi was never enamoured of half measures or ambiguous
positions. From the day when the pitiful monarch entered his pavilion
prison on the “Ocean Terrace,” she began to make arrangements for his
“mounting the Dragon” and “visiting the Nine Springs” in the orthodox
classical manner, and for providing the Throne with another occupant
whose youth, connections and docility would enable her to hold the
Regency indefinitely. Nevertheless, because of the turbulent temper of
the southern provinces and possible manifestations of Europe’s curious
sympathy with the Emperor’s Utopian dreams, she realised the necessity
for proceeding with caution and decorum. It was commonly reported
throughout the city in the beginning of October that the Emperor would
die with the end of the Chinese year.
Kuang Hsü was a prisoner in his Palace, doomed, as he well knew; yet must
he play the puppet Son of Heaven and perform each season’s appointed
posturings. On the 8th day of the 8th Moon he appeared therefore, as
ordered by his attendants, and in the presence of his whole Court
performed the nine prostrations and other proper acts of obeisance before
Her Majesty Tzŭ Hsi, in recognition of his own nonentity and her supreme
authority. In the afternoon, escorted by a strong detachment of Jung
Lu’s troops, he went from the Lake Palace to sacrifice at the Altar of
the Moon. Thus, pending the _coup-de-grâce_, the wretched Emperor went
through the empty ceremonies of State ritual; high priest, that was
himself to be the next victim, how bitter must have been his thoughts as
he was borne back with Imperial pomp and circumstance to his lonely place
of humiliation!
Tzŭ Hsi then settled down to her work of government, returning to it
with a zest by no means diminished by the years spent in retreat. And
first she must justify the policy of reaction to herself, to her high
officials, and the world at large. She must get rid of offenders and
surround herself with men after her own heart.
A few days after the Autumn festival and the Emperor’s melancholy
excursion, Her Majesty proceeded to remind the Imperial Clansmen that
their position would not protect them against the consequences of
disloyalty; she was always much exercised (remembering the Tsai Yüan
conspiracy) at any sign of intriguing amongst her Manchu kinsmen. In
this case her warning took the form of a Decree in which she sentenced
the “Beileh” Tsai Ch’u[57] to perpetual confinement in the “Empty
Chamber” of the Clan Court. Tsai Ch’u had had the audacity to sympathise
with the Emperor’s reform schemes; he had also had the bad luck to marry
one of Tzŭ Hsi’s nieces and to be upon the worst of terms with her.
When therefore he advised the Emperor, in the beginning of the Hundred
Days, to put a stop, once and for all, to the Old Buddha’s interference
in State affairs, the “mean one of his inner chamber” did not fail to
report the fact to Her Majesty, and thus to enlist her sympathies and
activities, from the outset, on the side of the reactionaries.
At the time immediately following the _coup d’état_, public opinion
at the Capital was divided as to the merits of the Emperor’s proposed
reforms and the wisdom of their suppression, but the political instincts
of the tribute-fed metropolis are, generally speaking, dormant, and what
it chiefly respects is the energetic display of power. So that, on the
whole, sympathy was with the Old Buddha. She had, moreover, a Bismarckian
way of guiding public opinion, of directing undercurrents of information
through the eunuchs and tea-house gossip, in a manner calculated to
appeal to the instincts of the _literati_ and the _bourgeois_; in the
present instance stress was laid on the Emperor’s lack of filial piety,
as proved by his plotting against his aged and august aunt (a thing
unpardonable in the eyes of the orthodox Confucianist), and on the fact
that he enjoyed the sympathy and support of foreigners—an argument
sufficient to damn him in the eyes of even the most progressive Chinese.
It came, therefore, to be the generally accepted opinion that His
Majesty had shown deplorable want of judgment and self-control, and
that the Empress Dowager was fully justified in resuming control of the
government. This opinion even came to be accepted and expressed by those
Legations which had originally professed to see in the Emperor’s reforms
the dawn of a new era for China. So elastic is diplomacy in following
the line of the least resistance, so adroit (in the absence of a policy
of its own) in accepting and condoning any _fait accompli_, that it
was not long before the official attitude of the Legations—including
the British—had come to deprecate the Emperor’s unfortunate haste in
introducing reforms, reforms which every foreigner in China had urged
for years, and which, accepted in principle by the Empress since 1900,
have again been welcomed as proof of China’s impending regeneration. In
June 1898, the British Minister had seen in the Emperor’s Reform Edicts
proof that “the Court had at last thoroughly recognised a real need for
radical reform.”[58] In October, when the Chief Reformer (K’ang Yu-wei)
had been saved from Tzŭ Hsi’s vengeance by the British Consul-General
at Shanghai and conveyed by a British warship to the protection of a
British Colony (under the mistaken impression that England would actively
intervene in the cause of progress and on grounds of self-interest if not
of humanity), we find the tide of expediency turned to recognition of
the fact that “the Empress Dowager and the Manchu party were seriously
alarmed for their own safety, and looked upon the Reform movement as
inimical to Manchu rule”![58] And two months later, influenced no doubt
by the impending season of peace and good will, the Marquess of Salisbury
is seriously informed by Sir Claude Macdonald that the wives of the
foreign Representatives, seven in all, had been received in audience by
the Empress Dowager on the anniversary of her sixty-fourth birthday,
and that Her Majesty “made a most favourable impression, both by the
personal interest she took in all her guests and by her courteous
amiability.”[58] On which occasion the puppet Emperor was exhibited, to
comply with the formalities, and was made to shake hands with all the
ladies. And so the curtain was rung down, and the Reform play ended, to
the satisfaction of all (or nearly all) concerned.
Nevertheless, the British Minister and others, disturbed at the
persistent rumours that “the Empress Dowager was about to proceed to
extreme steps in regard to the Emperor,”[58] went so far as to warn
the Chinese Government against anything so disturbing to the European
sense of fitness and decency. Foreign countries, the Yamên was told,
would view with displeasure and alarm his sudden demise. When the news
of the British Minister’s intervention became known in the tea-houses
and recorded in the Press, much indignation was expressed: this was a
purely domestic question, for which precedents existed in plenty and in
which foreigners’ advice was inadmissible. The Emperor’s acceptance of
new-fangled foreign ideas was a crime in the eyes of the Manchus, but his
enlistment of foreign sympathy and support was hateful to Manchus and
Chinese alike.
Matters soon settled down, however, into the old well-worn grooves,
the people satisfied and even glad in the knowledge that the Old
Buddha was once more at the helm. In the capital the news had been
sedulously spread—in order to prepare the way for the impending drama
of expiation—that Kuang Hsü had planned to murder Her Majesty, and his
present punishment was therefore regarded as mild beyond his deserts.[59]
Scholars, composing essays appropriate to the occasion, freely compared
His Majesty to that Emperor of the Tang Dynasty (A.D. 762) who had
instigated the murdering of the Empress Dowager of his day. Kuang Hsü’s
death was therefore freely predicted and its effects discounted; there
is no doubt that it would have caused little or no comment in the north
of China, however serious its consequences might have been in the south.
The public mind having been duly prepared, the Empress Dowager, in the
name of the prospective victim, issued a Decree stating that the Son of
Heaven was seriously ill; no surprise or apprehension was expressed, and
the sending of competent physicians from the provinces to attend His
Majesty was recognised as a necessary concession to formalities. “Ever
since the 4th Moon,” said this Decree (_i.e._, since the beginning of the
hundred days of reform), “I have been grievously ill; nor can I find any
alleviation of my sickness.” It was the _pro formâ_ announcement of his
impending despatch, and as such it was received by the Chinese people.
Amongst the doctors summoned to attend His Majesty was Ch’en Lien-fang,
for many years the most celebrated physician in China. The following
account of his experiences at the capital and the nature of his duties,
was supplied by himself at the time, to one of the writers, for
publication in _The Times_.
“When the Edict was issued calling upon the provincial Viceroys
and Governors to send native doctors of distinction to Peking
to advise in regard to the Emperor’s illness, Chen Lien-fang
received orders from the Governor at Soochow to leave for the
north without delay. This in itself, apart from the uncongenial
and unremunerative nature of the duty (of which Ch’en was well
aware), was no light undertaking for a man of delicate physique
whose age was over three score years and ten; but there was no
possibility of evading the task. He according left his large
practice in the charge of two confidential assistants, or
pupils, and, having received from the Governor a sum of 6,000
taels for travelling expenses and remuneration in advance, made
his way to Peking and reported for duty to the Grand Council.
When he arrived there, he found three other native physicians
of considerable repute already in attendance, summoned in
obedience to the Imperial commands. Dr. Déthève, of the French
Legation, had already paid his historical visit to the Emperor,
and his remarkable diagnosis of the Son of Heaven’s symptoms
was still affording amusement to the Legations. The aged native
physician spoke in undisguised contempt both of the French
doctor’s comments on the case and of his suggestions for its
treatment. His own description of the Emperor’s malady was
couched in language not unlike that which writers of historical
novels attribute to the physicians of Europe in the Middle
Ages; he spoke reverently of influence and vapours at work in
the august person of his Sovereign, learnedly of heat-flushings
and their occult causes, and plainly of things which are more
suited to Chinese than to British readers. Nevertheless, his
description pointed clearly to disease of the respiratory
organs—which he said had existed for over twelve years—to
general debility, and to a feverish condition which he ascribed
to mental anxiety combined with physical weakness. Before he
left Peking (about the middle of November) the fever had abated
and the patient’s symptoms had decidedly improved; the case
was, however, in his opinion, of so serious a nature that he
decided to leave it, if possible, in the hands of his younger
_confrères_—an object which by dint of bribing certain Court
officials he eventually achieved. Asked if he considered the
Emperor’s condition critical, he replied oracularly that if he
lived to see the Chinese New Year his strength would thereafter
return gradually with the spring, and the complete restoration
of his health might be expected.
“Some few days after his arrival in Peking, Ch’en was summoned
to audience by orders conveyed through a member of the Grand
Council; the Emperor and the Dowager Empress were awaiting
his visit in a hall on the south side of the Palace. The
consultation was curiously indicative of the divinity which
hedges about the ruler of the Middle Kingdom; suggestive,
too, of the solidity of that conservatism which dictates
the inner policy of China. Ch’en entered the presence of
his Sovereign on his knees, crossing the apartment in that
position, after the customary kowtows. The Emperor and the
Dowager Empress were seated at opposite sides of a low table
on the daïs, and faced each other in that position during the
greater part of the interview. The Emperor appeared pale and
listless, had a troublesome irritation of the throat, and was
evidently feverish; the thin oval of his face, clearly defined
features, and aquiline nose gave him, in the physician’s eyes
(to use his own words), the appearance of a foreigner. The
Empress, who struck him as an extremely well-preserved and
intelligent-looking woman, seemed to be extremely solicitous
as to the patient’s health and careful for his comfort. As it
would have been a serious breach of etiquette for the physician
to ask any questions of His Majesty, the Empress proceeded to
describe his symptoms, the invalid occasionally signifying
confirmation of what was said by a word or a nod. During this
monologue, the physician, following the customary procedure at
Imperial audiences, kept his gaze concentrated upon the floor
until, at the command of the Empress, and still kneeling, he
was permitted to place one hand upon the Emperor’s wrist. There
was no feeling of the pulse; simply contact with the flat of
the hand, first on one side of the wrist and then on the other.
This done, the Empress continued her narrative of the patient’s
sufferings; she described the state of his tongue and the
symptoms of ulceration in the mouth and throat, but as it was
not permissible for the doctor to examine these, he was obliged
to make the best of a somewhat unprofessional description. As
he wisely observed, it is difficult to look at a patient’s
tongue when his exalted rank compels you to keep your eyes
fixed rigidly on the floor. The Empress having concluded
her remarks on the case, Ch’en was permitted to withdraw
and to present to the Grand Council his diagnosis, together
with advice as to future treatment, which was subsequently
communicated officially to the Throne. The gist of his advice
was to prescribe certain tonics of the orthodox native type
and to suggest the greatest possible amount of mental and
physical rest.”[60]
The aged physician’s oracular forecast was justified. The Emperor lived
to see the New Year and thereafter to regain his strength, a result
due in some degree to the Empress Dowager’s genuine fear of foreign
intervention, but chiefly to her recognition of the strength of public
opinion against her in the south of China and of the expediency of
conciliating it. In the Kuang provinces there was no doubt of the
bitterly anti-Manchu feeling aroused by the execution of the Cantonese
reformers: these turbulent southerners were fierce and loud in their
denunciations of the Manchus and all their works, and it would not have
required much to fan the flames of a new and serious rebellion. The south
was well aware, for news travels swiftly in China, that the Emperor’s
life was in danger and that the close of the year was the time fixed for
his death, and from all sides protests and words of warning came pouring
from the provinces to the capital, addressed not only to the metropolitan
boards but to the Throne itself. Amongst these was a telegram signed by
a certain Prefect of Shanghai named Ching Yüan-shan, who, in the name of
“all the gentry, scholars, merchants and public of Shanghai,” referred to
the Edict which announced the Emperor’s illness and implored the Empress,
the Clansmen and the Grand Council to permit his sacred Majesty to resume
the government “notwithstanding his indisposition,” and to abandon all
thoughts of his abdication. He described the province of Kiangsu as being
in a state of suppressed ferment and frankly alluded to the probability
of foreigners intervening in the event of the Emperor’s death. Tzŭ Hsi
was much incensed with this courageous official, not because he actually
accused her of premeditating murder, but because he dared threaten her
with its consequences. She gave orders that he be summarily cashiered,
whereupon, fearing further manifestations of her wrath, he fled to Macao.
But his bold words undoubtedly contributed to saving the Emperor’s life.
Of all the high provincial authorities, one only was found brave and
disinterested enough to speak on behalf of the Emperor; this was Liu
K’un-yi, the Viceroy of Nanking. He was too big a man to be publicly
rebuked at a time like this and Tzŭ Hsi professed to admire his
disinterested courage; but she was highly incensed at his action, which
contrasted strongly with the astute opportunism of his colleague, the
scholarly magnate Chang Chih-tung, Viceroy of Wuch’ang, who had been an
ardent advocate of the reformers so long as the wind blew fair in that
quarter. Only six months before he had recommended several progressives
(amongst them his own secretary, Yang Jui) to the Emperor’s notice, and
just before the storm burst he had been summoned to Peking by Kuang
Hsü to support His Majesty’s policy as a member of the Grand Council.
No sooner had the Empress Dowager declared herself on the side of the
reactionaries, however, and the Emperor had failed in his attempt to win
over Yüan Shih-k’ai and his troops, than Chang telegraphed to the Old
Buddha warmly approving her policy, and urging strong measures against
the reformers. The advice was superfluous; Tzŭ Hsi, having put her hand
to the plough, was not the woman to remove it before her work was well
done.
On the 11th day of the 8th Moon, she summoned Jung Lu to the capital to
assist her in stamping out the reform movement. The Board of Punishments
had just sent in a memorial urging the appointment of an Imperial
Commission for the trial of K’ang Yu-wei’s colleagues. Tzŭ Hsi, in reply,
directed them to act in consultation with the Grand Council and to
cross-examine the prisoners “with the utmost severity.” At the same time
she ordered the imprisonment in the Board’s gaol of Chang Yin-huan,[61]
the Emperor’s trusted adviser and friend who, she observed, “bears
an abominable reputation.” This Edict took occasion to state that the
Throne, anxious to temper justice with mercy, would refrain from any
general proscription or campaign of revenge, “although fully aware that
many prominent scholars and officials had allowed themselves to be
corrupted by the reformers.”
The Empress’s next step, advised by Jung Lu, was to issue a Decree, in
the name of the Emperor, in which she justified the policy of reaction
and reassured the Conservative party. The document is an excellent
example of her methods. While the Emperor is made to appear as convinced
of the error of his ways, all blame for the “feelings of apprehension”
created by the reform movement is relegated to “our officials’ failure to
give effect to our orders in the proper way,” so that everybody’s “face”
is saved. The following abridged translation is of permanent interest,
for the same arguments are in use to-day and will undoubtedly be required
hereafter, when the Manchus come to deal with the impending problems of
Constitutional Government:—
“The original object of the Throne in introducing reforms
in the administration of the government was to increase the
strength of our Empire and to ameliorate the condition of our
subjects. It was no sudden whim for change, nor any contempt
for tradition that actuated us; surely our subjects must
recognise that our action was fully justifiable and indeed
inevitable. Nevertheless, we cannot shut our eyes to the fact
that feelings of apprehension have been aroused, entirely
due to the failure of our officials to give effect to our
orders in the proper way, and that this again has led to the
dissemination of wild rumours and wrong ideas amongst the
ignorant masses of the people. For instance, when we abolished
six superfluous government boards, we did so in the public
interest, but the immediate result has been that we have been
plagued with Memorials suggesting that we should destroy and
reconstruct the whole system of administration. It is evident
that, unless we explain our policy as a whole, great danger
may arise from the spread of such ideas, and to prevent
any such result we now command that the six metropolitan
departments which we previously abolished be re-established
exactly as before. Again, our original intention in authorising
the establishment of official newspapers, and allowing all
and sundry of our subjects to address us, was to encourage
the spread of knowledge and to improve our own sources of
intelligence. Unfortunately, however, the right of addressing
the Throne has been greatly abused, and the suggestions which
have reached us in this way have not only been trivial and
useless on many occasions, but have recently shown a tendency
towards revolutionary propaganda. For this reason the right
to memorialise the Throne will in future be strictly reserved
in accordance with the established and ancient custom. As for
official newspapers, we have come to the conclusion that they
are quite useless for any purposes of the government, and
that they only lead to popular discontent; they are therefore
abolished from this day forth. The proper training grounds for
national industry and talent are Colleges, and these are to go
on as before, it being the business of the local officials,
acting upon public opinion in their respective districts, to
continue the improvement of education on the lines laid down;
but there is to be no conversion of temples and shrines into
schools, as was previously ordered, because this might lead to
strong objection on the part of the people. Generally speaking,
there shall be no measures taken contrary to the established
order of things throughout the Empire. The times are critical,
and it behoves us, therefore, to follow in government matters
the happy mean and to avoid all extreme measures and abuses.
It is our duty, without prejudice, to steer a middle course,
and it is for you, our officials, to aim at permanence and
stability of administration in every branch of the government.”
Jung Lu was now raised to membership of the Grand Council, and given
supreme command of the northern forces and control of the Board of
War; he thus became the most powerful official in the Empire, holding
a position for which no precedent existed in the annals of the Manchu
Dynasty. He had once more proved loyal to the Empress and faithful to
the woman whom he had served since the days of the flight to Jehol; and
he had his reward. It was natural, if not inevitable, that the part
played by Jung Lu in the crisis of the _coup d’état_ should expose him
to severe criticism, especially abroad; but, from the Chinese official’s
point of view, his action in supporting the Empress Dowager against her
nephew, the Emperor, was nothing more than his duty, and as a statesman
he showed himself consistently moderate, sensible, and reliable. The
denunciations subsequently poured upon him by the native and foreign
Press at the time of the Boxer rising were the result, partly of the
unrefuted falsehoods disseminated by K’ang Yu-wei and his followers,
and partly of the Legations’ prejudice (thence arising) and lack of
accurate information. As will hereafter be shown, all his efforts
were directed towards stemming the tide of that fanatical outbreak
and restraining his Imperial mistress from acts of folly. Amidst the
cowardice, ignorance and cruelty of the Manchu Clansmen his foresight and
courage stand out steadily in welcome relief; the only servant of the
Throne during Tzŭ Hsi’s long rule who approaches him in administrative
ability and disinterested patriotism is Tseng Kuo-fan (of whose career
a brief account has already been given). From this time forward until
his death (1903) we find him ever at Tzŭ Hsi’s right hand, her most
trusted and efficient adviser; and her choice was well made. As will be
seen in a later chapter, there was a time in 1900, when the Old Buddha,
distraught by the tumult and the shouting, misled by her own hopes, her
superstitious beliefs and the clamorous advice of her kinsfolk, allowed
Prince Tuan and his fellow fanatics to undermine for a little while Jung
Lu’s influence. Nevertheless (as will be seen by the diary of Ching Shan)
it was to him that she always turned, in the last resort, for counsel
and comfort; it was on him that she leaned in the dark hour of final
defeat,—and he never failed her. She lived to realise that the advice
which he gave, and which she sometimes neglected, was invariably sound.
Amidst all the uncertainties of recent Chinese history this much is
certain, that the memory of Jung Lu deserves a far higher place in the
esteem of his countrymen and of foreigners than it has hitherto received.
Unaware himself of many of the calumnies that had been circulated about
him at the time of the Court’s flight, he was greatly hurt, and his sense
of justice outraged, by the cold reception given him by the Legations
after the Court’s return to Peking. Thereafter, until his death, he was
wont to say to his intimate friends that while he would never regret the
stand he had taken against the Boxers, he could not understand or forgive
the hostility and ingratitude shown him by foreigners. “It was not for
love towards them,” he observed, on one occasion recorded, “that he had
acted as he did, but only because of his devotion to the Empress Dowager
and the Manchu Dynasty; nevertheless, since his action had coincided with
the interests of the foreigner, he was entitled to some credit for it.”
The Empress Dowager consulted long and earnestly with Jung Lu as
to the punishment to be inflicted upon the reformers. He advocated
strong measures of repression, holding that the prestige of the Manchu
Dynasty was involved. The six prisoners were examined by the Board of
Punishments, and Jung Lu closely questioned them as to K’ang Yu-wei’s
intentions in regard to the Empress Dowager. Documents found in K’ang’s
house had revealed every detail of the plot, and upon the Grand Council
recommended the execution of all the prisoners. There being no doubt
that they had been guilty of high treason against Her Majesty, it seemed
clearly inadvisable to prolong the trial, especially as there was
undoubtedly a risk of widening the breach between Manchus and Chinese by
any delay in the proceedings, at a time when party spirit was running
high on both sides. The Old Buddha concurred in the decision of the
Grand Council, desiring to terminate the crisis as soon as possible;
accordingly, on the 13th day of the Moon, the reformers were executed.
They met their death bravely, their execution outside the city being
witnessed by an immense crowd. It was reported that amongst the papers
of Yang Jui were found certain highly compromising letters addressed to
him by the Emperor himself, in which the Empress Dowager was bitterly
denounced. There was also a Memorial by Yang impeaching Her Majesty for
gross immorality and illicit relations with several persons in high
positions, one of whom was Jung Lu; this document had been annotated in
red ink by the Emperor himself. It quoted songs and ballads current in
the city of Canton, referring to Her Majesty’s alleged vicious practices,
and warned the Emperor that, if the Manchu dynasty should come now to
its end, the fault would lie as much with Tzŭ Hsi and her evil deeds as
was the case when the Shang dynasty (of the 12th Century B.C.) fell by
reason of the Emperor Chou Hsin’s infatuation for his concubine Ta Chi,
whose orgies are recorded in history. Yang Jui had compared the Empress
Dowager’s life at the Summer Palace with the enormities committed by this
infamous concubine in her palace by the “Lake of Wine”; small wonder
then, said Tzŭ Hsi’s advocates in defence of drastic measures, that,
having seen for herself, in the Emperor’s own handwriting, that these
treasonable utterances met with his favour and support, Her Majesty was
vindictively inclined and determined to put an end, once and for all, to
his relations with the Reform party.
The edict which ordered the execution of the Reform leaders was drafted
by the Empress Dowager herself with the aid of Jung Lu, but with cynical
irony it was issued in the name of the Emperor. It was written in red
ink as an indication of its special importance, a formality usually
reserved for decrees given by the Sovereign under his own hand. After
laying stress upon the necessity for introducing reforms in the country’s
administration, and on the anxiety felt by the Throne in regard to the
increasing difficulties of government, this Decree proceeded to state
that K’ang Yu-wei and his followers, taking advantage of the necessities
of the moment, had entered into a rebellious conspiracy, aiming at the
overthrow of the Throne itself; fortunately, their treacherous intentions
had been disclosed, and the whole plot revealed. The Decree continued as
followed:—
“We are further informed that, greatly daring, these traitors
have organised a secret Society, the objects of which are to
overthrow the Manchu dynasty for the benefit of the Chinese.
Following the precepts of the Sages, We, the Emperor, are
in duty bound to propagate filial piety as the foremost of
all virtues, and have always done so, as our subjects must
be fully aware. But the writings of K’ang Yu-wei were, in
their tendency, depraved and immoral; they contain nothing
but abominable doctrines intended to flout and destroy the
doctrines of the Sages. Originally impressed by his knowledge
of contemporary politics, we appointed him to be a Secretary
of the Tsungli Yamên, and subsequently gave him charge of the
establishment of the proposed official newspaper at Shanghai;
but instead of going to his post, he remained for the purposes
of his evil conspiracies at Peking. Had it not been that,
by the protecting influences of our ancestors, his plot was
revealed, appalling disasters must undoubtedly have followed.
K’ang himself, the moving spirit in this conspiracy, has
fled from justice, and we rely upon the proper authorities to
see to it that he be arrested, and that capital punishment be
inflicted upon him.”
The Decree then proceeded to award the death penalty to K’ang Yu-wei’s
colleague, Liang Ch’i-ch’ao, a scholar of the highest repute, who
subsequently found a refuge in Japan, and there edits a newspaper of
high and well-deserved reputation. Next in order of importance were the
three Secretaries of the Grand Council, who were awaiting the result of
their trial in the Board of Punishments. The Edict added that any delay
in their execution might, in the opinion of the Grand Council, lead to
a revolutionary movement, and for this reason further formalities of
justice in regard to all six prisoners were dispensed with, and their
summary decapitation ordered.
After disposing of K’ang Yu-wei’s followers and accomplices, the Decree
once more emphasises the heinous guilt of their leader:—
“Our dynasty,” it says, “rules in accordance with the teachings
of Confucius. Such treason as that of K’ang Yu-wei is abhorred
by gods and men alike. Surely the elemental forces of nature
must refuse to protect such a man,[62] surely all humanity must
unite in the extermination of such noisome creatures. As to
those of his followers who, for the most part, were led away by
his immoral doctrines, their number is legion, and the Throne
has taken note of their names, but the Imperial clemency is
all-abounding, and we have decided to go no further with our
enquiries into these treasonable plottings. Let all concerned
now take warning by K’ang’s example. Let them conscientiously
follow the doctrines of the Sages, and turn their hearts to
wisdom in devotion to the Throne.”
Despite the Throne’s “all abounding clemency” and Tzŭ Hsi’s declared
intention to take no steps beyond the execution of the six reform
leaders, her “divine wrath” continued to be stirred up by the
recollection of the personal attacks that had been made against her.
Following immediately upon the Decree above quoted, came another whereby
Chang Yin-huan was sentenced to banishment to the New Dominion on a
vague charge of the usual classical type. His real offence lay in that
he had denounced the Empress Dowager for extravagance, and she was the
more embittered against him because the British Minister had presumed to
intervene with a plea for his life.
In another Decree the proposed visit to Tientsin was cancelled, at the
earnest request of Jung Lu, who dreaded the possibility of an attempt
on the life of the Empress Dowager. Her feminine curiosity had been
stirred by the prospect of a visit to the Treaty port and a change
from the seclusion of Peking, but she yielded to the advice of the
Commander-in-Chief. At the same time military reorganisation was pressed
forward with the greatest energy, and the occasion was taken to bestow
_largesse_ on the Chihli troops.
Upon Jung Lu coming to Peking Yü Lu was appointed to succeed him as
Viceroy of Chihli. This bigoted official enjoyed in a large measure
the confidence of the Empress Dowager. Unusually ignorant, even for a
Manchu, and totally devoid of ability, he was subsequently responsible
for the growth of the Boxer movement in and around Tientsin. At this
particular crisis, however, distrust of the Chinese was rife, and the
Old Buddha felt that the presence of a Manchu Viceroy to control the
Metropolitan Province was necessary to prevent any organised movement by
the revolutionaries.
There now remained unpunished in Peking only one high official who
had been in any way publicly associated with the reformers, _i.e._,
Li Tuan-fen, President of the Board of Ceremonies. After waiting a
few days and finding that his case was not referred to in any of the
Edicts, he applied in a Memorial to the Throne that the offence which
he had committed (in recommending K’ang Yu-wei and other reformers
for government employment) should be suitably punished. The Memorial
is in itself a most interesting document, as it throws light on
several characteristic features of the internal economy of the Chinese
Government. The writer, after admitting his guilt, and expressing
astonishment that it has not been brought home to him, placed on record
his gratitude for the clemency thus far exercised, and asked that, as his
conscience gave him no peace, Her Majesty might be pleased to determine
the penalty for his guilt, “to serve as a warning to all officials who
may be led to recommend evil characters to the notice of the Throne.” Tzŭ
Hsi’s reply was equally interesting, and was issued, as usual, in the
name of the Emperor:—
“We have read the Memorial of Li Tuan-fen. This official
has enjoyed our special favour; nevertheless, it was he who
recommended to our notice that base traitor, K’ang Yu-wei, and
he repeated his recommendations at more than one subsequent
audience. His present action in admitting his guilt after
the conspiracy has been exposed indicates a certain amount
of low cunning on his part, which makes it quite impossible
for us to treat him with further leniency. He is therefore
to be cashiered forthwith and banished to the New Dominion,
where he will be kept under close observation by the local
authorities.”[63]
The whole episode and correspondence are strongly suggestive of the sport
of a cat with a mouse.
By this time the violent measures of the reactionary party had aroused
a storm of indignation in the South, where societies were being
organised in support of His Majesty Kuang-Hsü. Newspapers published
in the foreign settlements at Shanghai repeated daily the wildest and
bitterest denunciations against Her Majesty and Jung Lu, the latter
being specially singled out for attack. The writers of these articles,
evidently inspired by the fugitive reform leaders, declared that the
movement in Peking was essentially anti-Chinese, and that it would
undoubtedly end in the appointment of Manchus to all important posts in
the Empire. On the other hand, anti-foreign disturbances were fomented
in several provinces by those who believed that the Empress Dowager
would be gratified by these manifestations of public feeling. This
state of affairs was undoubtedly fraught with serious danger, to which
the attention of the Empress Dowager was drawn in a very plain-spoken
Memorial by a Censor and Imperial Clansman named Hui Chang.
The memorialist congratulated the Throne upon the energetic and
successful suppression of K’ang Yu-wei’s treason, an achievement which
would redound for ever to the fame of the Old Buddha. He then referred to
the position of affairs in South China as follows:—
“Of late many rumours have been in circulation, due to the
fact that the criminals executed by order of the Throne are
all Chinese, and your Majesties are therefore accused of
desiring to promote the interests of Manchus at the expense of
your Chinese subjects. Although it should be well known and
recognised that our dynasty has never held the balance unevenly
between Manchus and Chinese, yet the followers of K’ang Yu-wei
are undoubtedly taking advantage of these rumours, and the
result threatens the State with danger.”
The writer, after referring to the general futility of Edicts, then
advised that special honours should be accorded to a few selected Chinese
of undoubted loyalty and orthodoxy, by which means public opinion would
be reassured. He justly observed that, if those who had been guilty of
high treason had been made to suffer the penalty, those who had been
consistently loyal should be suitably rewarded. He advised that all those
who, during the past few months, had sent in Memorials denouncing the
reform movement and rebuking the corrupt tendencies of the so-called new
scholarship, should be advanced in the public service. Finally, he made
the significant observation, that loyalty and patriotism when displayed
by Chinese subjects are of greater value to the integrity of the Empire
than these virtues when displayed by Manchus, an indication of statecraft
likely to appeal to the acute intelligence of the Old Buddha. The Empress
Dowager’s reply, while ostensibly in the nature of a rebuke, was marked
by unusual evasiveness on the subject actually at issue. She laid stress
only on the strict impartiality of the Throne’s decision, professing to
be animated by feelings of abstract justice, and to be free from all
manner of prejudice, whether against Manchus or Chinese. The Memorialist
was, however, shortly afterwards promoted, and as a proof of her
impartiality, the Empress Dowager proceeded, on the same day, to dismiss
half-a-dozen high officials, one of whom was a Manchu; and on the ground
that Jung Lu himself had recommended one of the reformers for employment,
she ordered that he too be referred to the Board of Civil Appointments
for the determination of a suitable penalty. This was merely “saving
face.”
Stirred, as usual, to activity by anything in the nature of criticism,
Her Majesty now issued Decrees in rapid succession. One of these declared
the necessity for adequate protection of foreigners in the interior
and for the Legations in Peking; another took the form of a homily to
the Provincial Authorities in regard to the selection of subordinate
officials. A third called for advice from the Provincial Viceroys and
Governors, but they were told, at the same time, to avoid criticising on
party grounds because “the Throne was fully aware of the motives which
usually inspire such attacks.”
Subsequently, the Empress Dowager took occasion in a homily on the whole
art of government, to place on record a defence of her policy as head of
the Manchus in China. The following extract from this Decree is worth
quoting:—
“The test of good government has always been the absence
of rebellion; a State which takes adequate measures for
self-defence can never be in serious danger. By the accumulated
wisdom of six successive Sovereigns, our dynasty has succeeded
in establishing a system of government, based on absolute
justice and benevolence, which approaches very nearly to
perfection. It has been our pleasure to grant immediate relief
in times of flood and famine. When rivers burst their banks,
our first thought has ever been the safety of our people.
Never have we resorted to conscription, or to the levying
of _corvées_. We have always excluded Chinese women from
service as subordinates in the Palace. Surely such evidences
of benevolent solicitude merit the hearty co-operation of all
our subjects, and entitle us to expect that all our people,
high and low, should peacefully pursue their business in life,
so that all men, even the humblest labourers, may enjoy the
blessings of peace. Is it any wonder then, that our soul is
vexed when abominable treachery and the preaching of rebellion
have been permitted to exist and to be spread broad-cast; when
high officials, lacking all proper principles, have dared to
recommend traitors to the Throne, in furtherance of their own
evil designs? When we think of these things, our righteous
indignation almost overwhelms us; nevertheless, we have granted
a general amnesty, and will enquire no further into these base
plottings.”
The Decree concluded with the usual exhortation to the official class,
and an appeal for the exercise of ideal virtue.
Her Majesty’s next step was to reinstate certain leading reactionaries,
whom the Emperor had recently dismissed, notably Hsü Ying-kuei, who had
denounced the reformer Wang Chao. The Emperor’s party was now completely
broken up, and he was left without supporters or friends in Peking. The
Manchu Treasurer of Kansuh (Tseng Ho) was the last high official to
speak in favour of the reform movement, or rather of one of its chief
advocates, and, by so doing, to bring down upon him the wrath of the
Old Buddha. The Memorial which brought about his summary dismissal from
office, never again to be re-employed, referred in terms of regret to the
disgrace of Weng T’ung-ho, the Emperor’s tutor.
Her Majesty next turned her attention to the provinces, and administered
a severe rebuke to Liu K’un-yi, who, on grounds of ill-health, had asked
to be relieved of the Nanking Viceroyalty. Her Majesty, reminding him in
the classical phraseology of the high favours showered upon him by the
Throne, directed him to abstain from frivolous excuses and to continue
in the performance of his duties, exercising more diligence therein, and
more care in his selection of subordinate officials.
The audacity of Weng T’ung-ho continued to rankle sorely in Her Majesty’s
mind, and to allow him to continue to live in honourable retirement in
his native place without loss of rank or other punishment was not in
accordance with her ideas of fitness; nor was it likely that Jung Lu, who
had always borne a grudge against the Imperial tutor, would do anything
to mitigate her wrath against him. In a Decree, issued in the name of
the Emperor, she once more vented her spite on this aged and inoffensive
scholar, in a manner highly characteristic of her temperament. The Edict
is sufficiently interesting to justify the following quotation:—
“When Weng T’ung-ho acted as our Imperial tutor, his method
of instruction left much to be desired; he never succeeded
in explaining the inner meaning of classical or historical
subjects, but would spend his time endeavouring to gain our
favour and distract our attention by showing us curios and
pictures. He would endeavour also to ascertain our views on
current events and matters of policy by discussing questions
of general contemporary interest. During the war with Japan,
for instance, he would at one time profess to advocate peace,
and again he would be all for war, and finally he even advised
us to flee from our capital. He had a habit of exaggerating
facts in order to make them coincide with his own views, and
the result of the foolish and wrongful performance of his
duties is now to be seen in a situation almost irreparable. In
the spring of last year he was all in favour of reform, and
secretly recommended to us K’ang Yu-wei as a man whose ability,
he said, exceeded his own one hundred fold. We, being anxious
above all things to strengthen our Empire at a time of national
danger, reluctantly yielded to K’ang Yu-wei’s advice in regard
to reform. He, however, took advantage of our complaisance to
plot treason. For this Weng T’ung-ho is primarily to blame,
and his guilt is too great to be overlooked. Besides this,
he has incurred our displeasure in several other ways; for
instance, he would allow himself to show annoyance if we
disagreed with his recommendations, and would even attempt to
browbeat us. At such times his language was most improper, and
the recollection of his bullying propensities remains in our
mind most unpleasantly. In a previous Decree we ordered him to
vacate his post and return to his native place, but for his
many offences this in itself is no adequate punishment. We now
order that he be cashiered, never again to be re-employed, and
that henceforth he be held under close supervision of the local
authorities and prohibited from creating trouble, as a warning
to all double-minded officials for the future.”[64]
Weng T’ung-ho lived in his family home (Chang Shu in Kiangsu) until June,
1904, beloved and respected by all who knew him. He was by no means a
nonentity like most of the aged officials near the Throne, but rather a
person of considerable force of character, and after his dismissal lived
always in the hope that he might yet return to serve the Emperor and the
cause of reform upon the death of the Old Buddha. Meanwhile, he became a
source of considerable trouble and anxiety to the District Magistrate
of his native place, as he made it his practice to call on that official
three times a month, and, in the guise of a suppliant, to address him,
thus, on his knees: “You have orders from the Throne secretly to keep
watch over my conduct, and I therefore now attend, as in duty bound, to
assist you in carrying out these orders.” As the Magistrate could never
be certain that the once all-powerful Grand Secretary might not return to
power, his own position was evidently one of considerable embarrassment,
especially as the Weng family was the most important of the whole
neighbourhood. In the intervals of baiting local officials, the Grand
Secretary spent his time in scholarly retirement, and a volume of the
letters written by him at this period has since been published; they show
the man in a most attractive light, as a scholar and a poet; his light
and easy style, combined with a tendency to mysticism and philosophic
speculation, has always been highly appreciated by the _literati_. As his
fortune had not been taken from him, his old age was probably happier
in his native place than had it been exposed to the intrigues and hard
work of official life at the Capital; and he died in the enjoyment of a
reputation for patriotism and intelligence which extended far beyond his
native province, and which, since his death, has greatly increased.
The Empress Dowager, realising that the loyalty of the _literati_
had been greatly shaken by the Emperor’s abolition of the old system
of classical studies and public examinations, proceeded to reverse
His Majesty’s decision in a Decree which thoroughly delighted the
Conservative Party. Scholars throughout the country praised it in
unmeasured terms, as a striking example of the Old Buddha’s acute
reasoning powers. To a certain extent it may be admitted that the new
system of examinations introduced by the Emperor had led, at the outset,
to abuses which were absent under the old classical system, where the
anonymity of candidates was a cardinal principle. Her Majesty dealt with
the question as follows:—
“The ancient system whereby our Dynasty has selected the
scholars at public examinations by means of essays taken from
the Four Books, is based on the principle that the foundation
of all education lies in expounding the fundamental doctrines
of our national Sages and the Standard Commentaries on the
Confucian doctrine. For over two centuries this system has
worked most satisfactorily, and it is only quite lately that
certain meretricious tendencies have sprung up in connection
therewith, and that candidates at these examinations have
succeeded in obtaining degrees by the use of parrot-like
repetitions and empty catch-words. The fault has been wrongly
attributed to the system; it is in reality due to incapable
examiners, who have allowed these abuses to creep in. Critics
have failed to realise the truth in this matter, and have
allowed themselves to abuse the system, going as far as to
assert that the classical subjects in themselves are of no
practical value. They forget that the classical essays set
at these examinations are merely a first stage, a test for
entrance upon an official career, and that, if the candidate
is really a man of ability, the fact that he has been made to
compose verses in accordance with the time-honoured methods
of the T’ang and Sung dynasties will never prevent him from
making his way in the world. But should he be a man in whom
there exists already a tendency towards rash and unorthodox
principles, it may safely be said that to set him essays on
subjects of contemporary interest for the purposes of this
examination would only serve to aggravate the evil and further
to demoralise his nature. For these reasons, therefore, I now
definitely decree that, for the future, the old system shall
be restored, and that public examinations shall henceforward
consist of themes and extracts from the Classics. A special
examination for students of political economy, lately
authorised, has been shown to be productive of evil, and is
therefore abolished. It is the wish of the Throne that these
public examinations shall be in reality a sound test of merit.
Examiners and candidates alike should avoid meretricious
adornments of style, and endeavour to conform strictly to
the classical models. We desire, of course, that studies of
a practical nature should be continued, but these had best
be conducted under the guidance of local officials. It is
certainly desirable that agriculture, and the promotion of
industrial and commercial enterprises, should be placed on a
more effective basis of organisation, but owing to difficulties
of inter-communication and voluminous correspondence, it is
inadvisable that these matters should be centralised at Peking.
Let Bureaux be established at the various provincial capitals,
and let a beginning be made at Tientsin, as a test case and an
example for the rest of the Empire. The Peking Bureau is hereby
abolished.”
_Souvent femme varie_, and the mind of Tzŭ Hsi never ran consistently for
long in the same groove. Anxious always as to her popularity with all
parties in the State, and with a view to adjusting that nice equilibrium
of conflicting forces which constituted the pride of her statecraft and
the strength of her rule, we find her next issuing a Decree which set
forth the principles by which she professed to be guided. This Decree
reflects a certain amount of anxiety and a doubt as to whether the
punishment inflicted on the leading reformers might not be severely
criticised by the outside world. Her Majesty therefore decrees:—
“From times of remote antiquity it has always been recognised
that the perfect Government is that which is based on
consistent maintenance of the doctrines of the Sages, but, in
practice, the exigencies of any particular crisis must always
justify modification of these principles, so that there can be
no such thing as final and absolute adherence to any particular
principle or method. Recently there have been introduced
certain energetic measures of reform intended to put an end to
the many and increasing abuses which admittedly exist all over
the Empire; but certain evil-disposed persons have made these
reforms the excuse for a revolutionary movement. These we have
punished, so that the flood of treason and rebellion has been
stemmed. This does not mean, however, that we shall fail to
initiate and enforce all such measures, whether of a liberal
or conservative nature, as may be necessary in the interest
and for the welfare of our subjects. Was ever any man deterred
from eating for fear lest a mouthful should choke him? There
can surely be no real misapprehension in the public mind in the
face of all the Decrees which we have issued on this subject,
but we regret to note a marked lack of coherent opinion on the
subject amongst our official advisers, for, at the time when
these treasonable schemes were rife, we received scarcely any
Memorials alluding to this national danger, and no suggestions
for meeting it. It was only when the plot had been discovered
and suppressed that certain attempts were made to acquire
merit by those who thought they had fathomed the motives which
had actuated our action. These misguided persons overlooked
the important fact that it is the public interest, and the
public interest only, which guides the policy of the Throne in
matters of administration. The path we pursue is that of the
just mean, diverging neither to right nor left. Once more would
we admonish you, our officials throughout the Empire, bidding
you purify your hearts and get rid, once and for all, of these
false distinctions between reaction and reform. Let your
Memorials consider only the needs of each day and each case as
they come, and cease to submit haphazard schemes on the chance
of their meeting with our personal approval.”
Her Majesty next turned her attention to the necessities and distressing
condition of her people at large, and ordered that measures should once
more be taken to prevent the constant destruction of life and property
by the Yellow River in Shantung Province. She was under no delusion
as to the nature of the measures taken in the part to remedy “China’s
Sorrow” which, from time immemorial has been the happy hunting ground
of peculating officialdom; nor could she expect that her stereotyped
exhortations to virtue in this matter would afford her subjects any
particular gratification. Her Majesty alluded to the fact that “frequent
repairs to the banks of the Yellow River had not appeared to produce
any permanent results,” but the remedy which she applied, viz., a
consultation between the Grand Council and the various Ministries with
the Censorate, was not very reassuring. Nor was her subsequent decision
to send Li Hung-chang, to estimate on the spot the sum required for the
construction of effective river conservancy works, calculated to convince
the public of the sincerity of her benevolent intentions.
As in the days immediately following her first assumption of power after
the overthrow of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy in 1861, the Empress Dowager
at this period displayed remarkable activity in every direction, as is
shown by the number of her Decrees at this period. After dealing with the
Yellow River, she turned her attention to another permanent and crying
evil, which for centuries has weighed heavily upon the lower classes of
the Chinese people, viz., the interminable delay and heavy cost of legal
proceedings and the hardships thus inflicted on all who may be compelled
to seek justice at the hands of Chinese officials.
Her Majesty, in her Edict on the subject, showed a very close knowledge
of the abuses with which, indeed, all Chinese are fully acquainted,
but which official documents usually ignore. It is no doubt largely to
her frankness in cases of this kind that the Old Buddha’s widespread
reputation for good nature and tender-heartedness may be ascribed.
Throughout the country, but especially in the north, it has always
been the opinion of the peasantry and of the merchant class, that the
Old Buddha was, if anything, too tender-hearted, and that her extreme
mildness of disposition, though no doubt laudable, was on many occasions
a source of danger. To her untimely “benevolence” the populace in Peking
in 1900 undoubtedly ascribed the fact that the foreigners and native
Christians were not massacred _en masse_ before the arrival of the relief
expedition. In this Decree on the subject of lawsuits, Her Majesty states
that she has recently learned that legal proceedings are frequently hung
up for several months at a time, and that innocent persons have been
detained in custody for indefinite periods pending enquiry.
“Every sort of extortion is apparently practised in these
courts, and their gaolers deliberately obstruct the hearing
of cases unless they are heavily bribed. But if one member of
a family is thrown into prison, it is evident that his whole
household must suffer. Who would willingly enter upon legal
proceedings, unless suffering from injustice too grievous to be
borne, when the myrmidons of the law are able thus to ill-treat
claimants? At the root of the whole evil lies the fact that
the magistrates wilfully delay their business, being deaf to
the needs of the people. From our hearts we pity them, and we
now decree that regulations shall at once be drawn up for the
expediting of outstanding cases. Any delay in this matter will
involve heavy penalties.”
Again, another Edict thus reflects the benevolence of the “Divine Mother”
and her desire to conciliate public opinion:—
“In the majority of recent cases of summary executions in the
provinces, the culprits have been guilty of robbery under arms.
However heinous the offences of such criminals, they really
deserve our sincere pity. The excuse generally given for their
folly is that they have been forced into crime by starvation;
under such conditions men are apt to forget that their evil
acts will bring upon them the death penalty. These criminals
are hardy men and resolute; if they could only be turned from
their evil ways to service in our Army or to agriculture, they
might become good citizens: how preferable such a result to
seeing them cast into prison and finally dismembered? Apart
from this consideration, the crimes which they commit involve
their parents and families, a thought sufficient in itself
to disturb their conscience for ever. Here, in the remote
seclusion of our Palace, we think only of our people’s welfare,
and we long for the time when virtue may prevail and punishment
become a thing of the past. We therefore now implore you, our
children, to remember how real is our sympathy in all your
troubles; strive then to be virtuous citizens, and cease from
acts of violence which only bring trouble and misery in their
train. Let this our Decree be made known to the most remote
districts of our Empire, so that all may be aware of our
solicitude and tender regard for our people.”
The Empress Dowager was much incensed at the sympathy for the Emperor
shown by foreigners both in China and abroad, a sympathy which was
reflected for a time in the attitude of the British Minister and other
members of the Diplomatic Body at Peking. Adopting, however, that policy
of “conciliation pending a fitting opportunity for hostilities,” which
(as will be seen in another place) she had learned from study of the
classics, she invited the wives of the foreign Ministers and other
Legation ladies to an audience in the Palace at the beginning of the
winter, and treated them with such courtesy and consideration that she
won their hearts in a day. That her friendliness was entirely assumed, we
have learned from her own statements, and there is no doubt that, from
this time forward, she came more and more under the influence of the
chief reactionary Kang Yi, who, during the absence of Jung Lu on leave,
was able to persuade her that the first essential towards improving the
country’s military resources was the organisation of bands of militia
throughout the Empire. By missionaries who were close observers of events
in Shantung and other head-quarters of this patriotic movement, it was
soon realised that this military activity was directed primarily against
foreigners, and owed its origin in the first instance to the Empress
Dowager’s approval of Kang Yi’s policy of violent reaction.
The following Decree, promulgated towards the close of the year may, in a
certain sense, be regarded as the beginning and the charter of the Boxer
Movement; it was undoubtedly inspired by Kang Yi and his party.
“There has never been a time when the relations between
Sovereign and people could safely dispense with a good
understanding and certain general common objects. It is of
course for the local Magistrates to initiate measures in all
questions of local importance, but no successful national
policy can be maintained unless the gentry and the lower
classes co-operate with the Government. If we consider, for
example, the question of food-supply reserves, the organisation
of police, the drilling of militia or train-bands, and so
forth: they may seem very ordinary matters, but if they are
efficiently handled they may be made of the very greatest
value to the nation; for by making due provision against
famine, the people’s lives are protected, and similarly, by the
organisation of local police, protection is afforded against
bandits. As to the train-bands, they only require to undergo
regular training for a sufficient period to enable us to attain
to the position of a nation in arms. At any crisis in our
country’s affairs their services would then be available and
invaluable.
“We therefore decree that a beginning be now made in the
Provinces of Chihli, Mukden, and Shantung, where all the local
authorities must admonish the gentry and common people, so that
these measures may be carried out with the utmost energy. Where
any organisation already exists for the purposes mentioned, it
need only be remodelled, and brought into line with the general
system. Let steps be taken first at the provincial capitals,
and extended thence throughout the Provinces. Eventually it
is our intention that the system adopted shall be enforced
throughout the Empire, on the basis of the new regulations
adopted in these three Provinces.”
The rest of the Decree consists of the usual exhortations and warnings,
and is of no particular interest. It is not certain from this document
that the Empress herself understood clearly the forces that were about to
be let loose in these so-called military train-bands, and her subsequent
vacillation in regard to the Boxers would seem to afford an indication,
if not proof, that she acted impulsively and without full knowledge,
under the influence of Kang Yi. But the question rapidly increased in
importance, so that a few days later we find Her Majesty issuing a
second Decree, which shows that the potential power of the train-bands as
a national force was gradually impressing itself upon her mind, where,
as we know, the hope of revenge on foreigners was ever latent. In this
second Decree occurs the following passage:—
“Recent events have caused me the greatest grief and anxiety;
by day and by night, in the seclusion of my Palace, my thoughts
dwell on these matters, and my one object is now to secure the
tranquillity and prosperity of my subjects by the organisation
of adequate military forces. My purposes, set forth in numerous
Decrees, regarding the organisation of a strong army, the
improvement of communications, and the formation of train-bands
and militia, aim all at strengthening the Empire and promoting
the contentment of my people.”
After reiterating the substance of former Decrees, Her Majesty proceeds
pathetically to complain “that they have to a large extent been ignored,
or merely transmitted by one provincial authority to another, descending
from the Governor to the District Magistrate through the usual routine
channels, and eventually pigeon-holed as so much waste paper.” She admits
frankly that this method of treating Imperial Decrees is quite usual, and
that it has the sanction of tradition, but she insists that the time has
come for a change, and therefore now directs that all her Decrees are in
future to be printed on special Imperial yellow paper, and their contents
made known throughout the length and breadth of the Empire.
After further earnest exhortations to patriotism, and to that keen sense
of duty which alone can develop efficiency in the public service, she
directs that the local officials should keep closer touch with the gentry
and the elders of the people, and that officers in command of military
forces are to explain clearly to the rank and file the objects which Her
Majesty has in view in deciding upon military organisation.
The Decree concludes with the following words:—
“If in times of peace my people are prepared to face all
possible dangers, and to put away from them selfish and ignoble
ease, they will find that, when the hour of trial comes, their
common resolution is in very truth a tower of strength, which
shall not fail to bring about its due reward. By this means
shall the foundations of our Empire be strengthened, and its
prestige increased, and thus shall my purposes be fulfilled,
for which I have issued to you this solemn admonition.”
This Decree was followed by another, in the classical manner, exhorting
the troops to practise patriotism, which calls for no especial notice,
and certainly produced no more conspicuous effect than her repeated
warnings to the provincial Mandarins and her appeals for more energy
and intelligence in the public service. Certain writers have pointed to
the numerous and plain-spoken Decrees issued by Tzŭ Hsi at this period,
as proof that her heart was really set upon effectively reforming the
country’s administration, but it is always difficult for foreigners, and
even for Chinese outside the Palace, to form any concise idea as to the
inner meaning of these lucubrations, and how much of them was, on any
particular occasion, to be taken as something outside of the traditional
and stereotyped utterances of the Throne. It is certain that she herself
failed to exercise the personal influence and example that would have
convinced the world of her sincerity, and that she did nothing to put her
house of the Forbidden City in order or to do away with the manifest and
notorious abuses at her Court.
The Old Buddha concluded this remarkable display of literary and
political activity by returning once more to the grievance which rankled
most deeply, viz., that the chief conspirator against her sacred
authority and person had made good his escape. Professing to believe
that the heinousness of K’ang Yu wei’s crimes was not fully realised by
her people, she issued another Decree on the subject, in December, as
follows:—
“T’an Chung-lin, Viceroy of Canton, has memorialised
stating that he has brought to light, by searches at K’ang
Yu-wei’s birthplace, a large quantity of documents, chiefly
correspondence between the members of K’ang’s party, together
with certain seals, made of stone; all of which he has
forwarded for our personal inspection. These letters contain
a mass of treasonable matter. In one place the suggestion
is actually made that T’an Ssu-t’ung (one of the reformers
executed) should be nominated as President of the Chinese
Republic! The writers ignore the present Dynasty even in dating
their correspondence, and use instead a chronology which
begins with the birth of Confucius; one of them has actually
had the unbounded audacity to describe the present Dynasty as
‘perfectly useless.’ Abominable wickedness of this kind shows
that these men were something worse than ordinary rebels and
parricides. Their correspondence implicates an enormous number
of persons, but, as the Throne desires to show mercy and to
refrain from any further enquiry into this matter, the whole
correspondence has now been burnt by our orders.
“When first we stated in our Decrees the nature of the
treasonable conspiracy that K’ang Yu-wei had organised and of
his revolutionary programme, it was our object to nip rebellion
in the bud. But it would appear, from information which has
reached us, that certain misinformed people still hold to the
opinion and express it, that K’ang Yu-wei was nothing worse
than an over-zealous reformer. We mention therefore this matter
of the correspondence of these traitors, as proving beyond
possibility of doubt that K’ang Yu-wei was indeed a base and
unnatural malefactor, and we feel convinced that our loyal
subjects, from the highest to the lowest, realising this truth,
will now relegate his revolutionary utterances to their proper
position of insignificance. Thus shall right principles triumph
and the wrong be wiped out.”
Thus was Tzŭ Hsi established in her pride of place and thus were sown the
seeds of that great upheaval which was soon to shake the Empire to its
foundations.
XVI
THE GENESIS OF THE BOXER MOVEMENT
The history of the Boxers has been so fully written, and so many
excellent accounts given of the origins and contributing factors of the
movement, that any further reference to the matter may seem superfluous.
Nevertheless, the following extracts from a letter addressed by Jung Lu
to his friend Hsü Ying-kuei, the Viceroy of Fukien, may throw some new
light, not only on the causes of the growth of the movement in Chihli
but also on the character, private opinions and political methods of the
Empress Dowager’s favourite and trusted adviser. It was written in the
early part of July 1900.
“The Boxers started in eighteen villages of the Kuan district
of Shantung and they were originally called the ‘Plum Blossom
Fists.’ When Li Ping-heng was Governor of the Province (1895)
he did not forbid their proceedings, but, on the contrary,
proceeded to enrol them as Militia. Last summer there were
several conflicts between these Boxers and the Imperial
troops, but the Military commander was cashiered by order
of the Governor for his action and all the Boxer prisoners
were released. Their leader at this time openly described
himself as a descendant of the Ming Emperors and the female
branch of his society called ‘Red Lamp Light’ was named after
him. Last autumn, thus encouraged, the movement spread into
Chihli. The magistrate at Chingchou put out a proclamation
warning the people not to believe in their so-called magic
arts; he said these Boxers were only the ‘White Lily Sect’
under another name. This magistrate was a good friend to the
French missionaries, and the Viceroy, hearing of the incident,
enquired into the matter and promptly had him dismissed. This
caused me great regret, for both Wang Wen-shao and I had
known the man well, when we held the Chihli Viceroyalty, and
respected him.
“At the end of the 9th Moon of last year there were Boxers
openly displaying huge banners in Chihli, on which was written,
‘The Gods assist us to destroy all foreigners; we invite you
to join the patriotic Militia.’ At one place a Buddhist abbot
was the head of the Society and he led on the mob, burning the
Christian chapel there. Subsequently, while they were burning
converts’ houses at Liupa, the magistrate came out and attacked
them with his troops. The soldiers opened fire and the Boxers
retreated, but their priest leaders were captured, and some
thirty or forty were shot dead. This ought to have demonstrated
to the people at large how nonsensical were the stories about
the invulnerability of these mountebanks: our soldiers dealt
with them as easily as if they had been trussing chickens!
There were charms and forms of incantation found on the persons
of the priests who, after an examination by the magistrate,
were summarily executed.
“The provincial treasurer, T’ing Yung,[65] was largely
responsible for the beginning of the trouble. I hear that about
ten days ago he sent for all his subordinates to attend at
his Yamên, and the Prefect of Hsüanhua,[66] who was passing
through, came to pay his respects with the others. This man
said, ‘in the reign of Chia Ch’ing there were heterodox cults
of this kind, and the Emperor ordered them to be suppressed.’
T’ing Yung replied, ‘circumstances alter cases. Why should you
now refer to those days?’ The Prefect answered him, ‘It is
quite true that the calendar is no longer the same as it was
at that time, but the enlightened principles laid down by our
sacred ancestors should be a guidance to us for ever.’ T’ing
had of course nothing to say, and could only glare at him in
silence and change the conversation.
“When first I read Her Majesty’s decree of the 21st June in
which she orders us to form train-bands of these brave Boxers,
describing them as patriots of whom large numbers are to be
found, and should be enrolled, in every province, I lay awake
all the next night thinking over this matter. Unable to sleep,
more than once I sprang from my bed restless and excited with
mixed feelings of joy and fear. The idea of enlisting these
patriotic volunteers to repel the aggression of the foreigner
is undoubtedly a good one, and, if carefully worked out and
directed by firm discipline and good leadership, it might no
doubt be of the very highest utility. But if otherwise handled,
these men will inevitably get out of hand, and the only result
will be chaos and disaster. You will, no doubt, agree with me,
my old friend and colleague, that the motive which inspires
these Boxers is a patriotic one. So great is the ill-feeling
that exists between the mass of our people and the converts to
Christianity that we have been unavoidably dragged to the very
verge of hostilities, and our Government has embarked upon a
desperate course ‘of inviting the enemy to meet us in battle
before the walls of our capital.’ It is as if we were treading
on naked swords without flinching; there can be no question as
to the enthusiasm and ardour in our cause.
“But, at the beginning of the movement, these Boxers were
afraid to come together in large numbers lest the Imperial
troops should attack and destroy them; from this alone we
may reasonably infer that they are not devoid of the common
instinct of fear. By themselves they cannot be fully trusted,
but it seems to me (though you may consider the idea absurd)
that one might profitably use them to inspire, by their
fanaticism, the martial ardour of our regular troops. As a
fighting force they are absolutely useless, but their claims
to supernatural arts and magic might possibly be valuable for
the purpose of disheartening the enemy. But it would be quite
wrong, not to say fatal, for us to attach any real belief to
their ridiculous claims, or to regard them as of any real use
in action. Even if there were any truth in these tales of
magic they must necessarily be founded in heresy, and you know
full well that Chinese history records numerous instances of
such superstitious beliefs ending in rebellions against the
reigning Dynasty. You recently telegraphed me advising me
not to be unduly anxious, because in your opinion the Boxers
acquitted themselves exceedingly well in the fights at Tientsin
and Taku on the 20th June. I am not so sure of this myself; in
any case it is well to bear in mind that there is a very great
difference between the fighting capacity and temperament of the
natives of the north and south of China.[67] All the southern
provinces are teeming with secret and revolutionary societies,
salt smugglers, and other kinds of desperadoes; so much tinder,
which any spark may kindle into flames of disturbance at any
moment. These southern people are gamblers and disorderly
characters by profession, but they are certainly not animated
by any patriotic instinct, and if you were to enlist any
large number of them as a military force, it would be just
like organising bands of jackals and wolves to fight tigers.
The result would be that while none of the tigers would be
destroyed, millions of your own people, who may be likened to
sheep, would suffer miserably. On the other hand these northern
Boxers are not inspired by any lust of plunder, but by a
species of religious frenzy. Now, as you know, northerners are
dull and obstinate by nature, while the southerners are alert
but unreliable, so that it is difficult, if not impossible,
to arrive at any fixed policy or joint action in dealing with
them together. Was it not because of this characteristic of
the southerners that the Grand Council was so indignant in
1894, when, in fighting against the Japanese, our men feared
them worse than tigers, and, recognising their own hopeless
inferiority, threw down their weapons and would not face the
enemy?
“These Boxers are not trained troops, but they are ready to
fight, and to face death. It is indeed a very gratifying
surprise to see any of our people display courage, and to
witness their enthusiasm for paying off old scores against
the foreigner; but if, inspired by the sight of these brave
fellows, we imagine for a moment that the whole Empire is
going to follow their example, and that we shall thus be
enabled to rid ourselves of the accursed presence of the
foreigner, we are very much mistaken, and the attempt is
foredoomed. My advice therefore to your Excellency, is not to
hesitate in disobeying the Edict which commanded you to raise
these train-bands. I do not hesitate to give you this advice
and to assure you that you run no risks in following it. You
should, of course, act with great discretion, but the main
thing is to prevent the Throne’s Decree becoming an excuse for
the banding together of disorderly characters. I write this
private letter under stress of much natural apprehension, and
you will therefore pray forgive the haste and confusion of its
contents, and I trust that you will favour me in due course
with your reply.
(Signed)
“JUNG LU.”
[Illustration: THE “BEILEH” TSAI YING, SON OF PRINCE KUNG (CASHIERED BY
TZŬ HSI FOR PRO-BOXER PROCLIVITIES), AND HIS SON.]
XVII
THE DIARY OF HIS EXCELLENCY CHING SHAN
[NOTE.—Ching Shan, a Manchu of the Plain Yellow Banner Corps,
was born in 1823. In 1863 he became a Metropolitan Graduate and
Hanlin Compiler, especially distinguished as a scholar in Sung
philosophy. In the following year he was appointed a Junior
Secretary of the Imperial Household (Nei wu fu), rising to
Senior Secretary in 1869 and Comptroller in 1879. His father,
Kuang Shun, had held the post of Comptroller-General under
the Emperor Tao-Kuang, with whom he was for years on terms of
intimacy; he was a kinsman of the Empress Dowager’s family and
in close touch with all the leading Manchu nobles. Ching Shan
had therefore exceptional opportunities of knowing all the
gossip of the Court, of learning the opinions and watching the
movements of the high officials, Chinese and Manchu, who stood
nearest to the Throne. After holding office in several of the
Metropolitan Boards, he retired in 1894. He was tutor to Prince
Tuan, Duke Tsai Lan, and other sons of Prince Tun (younger son
of the Emperor Tao-Kuang), and therefore intimately associated
with the leaders of the Boxer movement.
Seen even against the lurid background of the abomination of
desolation which overtook Peking in August 1900, Ching Shan’s
fate was unusually tragic. Above the storm and stress of battle
and sudden death, of dangers from Boxers, wild Kansuh soldiery
and barbarian invaders, the old scholar’s domestic griefs,
the quarrels of his women folk, his son’s unfilial behaviour,
strike a more poignant note than any of his country’s fast
pressing misfortunes. And with good cause. On the 15th August,
after the entry of the allied forces into Peking and the flight
of the Empress Dowager, his wife, his senior concubine, and one
of his daughters-in-law committed suicide. He survived them but
a few hours, meeting death at the hands of his eldest son, En
Ch’un, who pushed him down a well in his own courtyard. This
son was subsequently shot by British troops for harbouring
armed Boxers.
The Diary was found by the translator in the private study
of Ching Shan’s house on August 18th and saved, in the nick
of time, from being burnt by a party of Sikhs. Many of the
entries, which cover the period from January to August 1900,
refer to trivial and uninteresting matters. The following
passages are selected chiefly because of the light they throw
on the part played by the Empress Dowager in that tragedy of
midsummer madness—on the strong hand and statecraft of the
woman, and on the unfathomable ignorance which characterises
to-day the degenerate descendants of Nurhachu. It should be
explained that Ching Shan (景善), who retired from office in
1894, must be distinguished from Ching Hsin (敬信), who died
about 1904. The latter was also a Manchu and a favourite of Tzŭ
Hsi, well known to foreigners at the capital. He held various
high posts, rose to be a Grand Secretary, and remained in
Peking after the flight of the Court, in charge of the Palace.
It was he who escorted the Diplomatic Body through the deserted
halls of the Forbidden City in September 1900. He was highly
respected by all who knew him.
Ching Shan, though of similarly high rank, was personally quite
unknown to foreigners, but a short note on his career (and
another on that of Ching Hsin) will be found in the “List of
the Higher Metropolitan and provincial officials” periodically
compiled by the Chinese Secretariat of the British Legation;
Edition of 1902, Kelly and Walsh, Shanghai.]
_25th Year of Kuang Hsü, 12th Moon, 25th Day_ (25th January, 1900).—Duke
Tsai Lan came to see me, his old tutor, to-day. He has much to tell me
concerning the “Patriotic Harmony” train-bands (I Ho Tuan) which have
been raised in Shantung by Yü Hsien, the Governor. Later, he described
yesterday’s audience at the Palace; in addition to the Grand Secretaries,
the Presidents of Boards and the Ministers of the Household, the “Sacred
Mother” received Prince Kung, his uncles Tsai Ying and Tsai Lien and
Prince Tuan. The Old Buddha announced her intention of selecting a new
Emperor. She said: “The nation has shown resentment and reproached me
for putting Kuang Hsü on the Throne, he being of the wrong generation;
furthermore, he himself has shown great lack of filial duty to me
notwithstanding the debt of gratitude he owed me for my kindness in
thus elevating him. Has he not plotted against me with traitors from
the south? I now propose therefore to depose him and to place a new
Emperor on the Throne, whose accession shall take place on the first
day of the New Year. It should be for you Ministers now to consider
what title should be given to Kuang Hsü upon his abdication. There is
a precedent for his removal from the Throne in the case of the Emperor
Ching T’ai of the Ming Dynasty who was reduced to the rank of Prince and
whose brother was restored to the Throne after eight years of captivity
among the Mongols.” There was dead silence for some time in the Hall of
Audience. At last the Grand Secretary Hsü T’ung suggested as appropriate
the title of “Hun-te-Kung,” which means, “The Duke of Confused Virtue”—or
well-meaning bungler:—it had been given by the Mongol Dynasty to a
deposed Sung Emperor. The Old Buddha approved. She then declared to the
assembly that her choice of the new Emperor was already made; it had
fallen upon the eldest son of Prince Tuan, whose great devotion to Her
Majesty’s person was well known. Henceforward Prince Tuan should be in
constant attendance at the Palace to supervise the education of his son.
At this point the Grand Secretary Sun Chia-nai[68] craved permission to
speak. He implored the Empress not to depose the Emperor; of a certainty
there would be rebellion in the Southern provinces. The choice of a new
Sovereign rested with her, but it could only be done after “ten thousand
years had elapsed” (_i.e._, after the death of the present Emperor).
The “Motherly Countenance” showed great wrath; turning on Sun Chia-nai,
she bade him remember that this was a family council to which she only
admitted Chinese as an act of grace. She had already notified the Emperor
of her intention, and he had no objections to offer. The Empress then
ordered all present to repair to the Hall of Diligent Government there to
await her and the Emperor, and upon their coming to witness the draft of
the Decree appointing the Heir Apparent. The formal announcement of his
accession to the throne would be postponed until the first day of the New
Year.
They proceeded therefore to the entrance of the appointed Hall, and in a
few minutes the Empress’s chair appeared at the gateway, when all knelt
and kowtowed three times. A number of eunuchs accompanied her, but she
bade them remain without. She sent Major-domo Li Lien-ying to request the
Emperor’s presence; he came in his chair, alighting at the outer gate
and kowtowed to the Empress, who had taken her seat on the main throne
within. She beckoned him to come to the Hall, and he knelt again, all
officials still kneeling outside. “_Chin lai, pu yung kuei hsia_” (Come
in, you need not kneel), called Her Majesty. She bade him sit down, and
summoned next the princes and ministers—some thirty in all—to enter.
Again the Old Buddha repeated her reasons for the step she was taking.
The Emperor only said “What Your Majesty suggests is quite proper and in
accordance with my views.” At this the Grand Secretary Jung Lu handed
to the Empress the Decree which the Grand Council had drafted.[69] She
read it through and forthwith ordered its promulgation. Nothing was said
to “The Lord of Ten Thousand Years” as to his being deposed; only the
selection of the Heir Apparent was discussed. The Grand Council then
remained for further audience, but the Princes were ordered to withdraw,
so that Duke Lan does not know what passed thereafter. The Emperor seemed
dazed, as one in a dream.
_30th Day_ (30th January, 1900).—To-day Liu Shun shaved my head; he
leaves to-night for his home at Pao-ti-hsien there to spend the new year.
My eldest son, En Ch’u, is pressing me to give him fifty taels to buy
an ermine cloak; he is a bad son and most undutiful. Chi Shou-ch’ing
came to see me to-day; he has moved to “Kuai Pang” Lane. He tells me
that his father-in-law, Yü Hsien, is to be made Governor of Shansi.
The Old Buddha has received him in audience since his removal from
the Governorship of Shantung on account of the murder of a French[70]
missionary, and praised him for the honesty and justice of his
administration. She does not approve of the Big Sword Society’s proposed
extermination of foreigners, because she does not believe they can do
it; Yü Hsien goes often to Prince Tuan’s palace, and they have many
secret interviews. Prince Tuan declares that if he were made President
of the Tsung-li Yamên he would make short work of all difficulties with
foreigners. He is a violent man and lacking in refinement.
_1st Day of 26th Year of Kuang Hsü_ (31st January, 1900).—To-day I am
78 years of age and my children mock me for being deaf. They are bad
sons and will never rise so high as their father has done. When I was
their age, between 20 and 30, the Emperor Tao-Kuang had already praised
my scholarship and presented me with a complimentary scroll bearing a
quotation from the writings of the philosopher Chu.
This year will witness many strange events; the people all say so. The
eighth month is intercalary which, in a year that has “Keng” for its
cyclical character, has ever been an evil omen. The New Emperor was to
have been proclaimed to-day under the title of “Heng-Ching”—all pervading
prosperity—but my son En Lin tells me that the new year sacrifices were
performed by the Ta-A-Ko (heir apparent) at the Palace of Imperial
Longevity, acting only as Deputy for the Emperor Kuang Hsü. The Ta-A-Ko
is a boy of fourteen; very intelligent, but violent-tempered. He walked
on foot to the Palace Hall from the Coal Hill Gate.
_5th Moon, 5th Day: The Dragon Festival_ (1st June, 1900).[71]—Arose
at six o’clock and was washing my face in the small inner room,
when Huo Kuei, the gatekeeper, came in with the card of Kang Yi, the
Grand Secretary, and a present of ten pounds of pork, with seasonable
greetings. I was not aware that he had already returned from his journey
to Chu Chou, whither he had gone with Chao Shu-ch’iao to examine and
report on the doings of the “patriotic train bands” (_i.e._ Boxers). He
sends word by the messenger that he will call upon me this morning.
My sons En Ch’u and En Shun are going to-day to a theatrical performance
at Chi Shou-ch’eng’s residence. My youngest son, En Ming, is on duty at
the Summer Palace, where, for the next four days, the Old Buddha will be
having theatricals. I am surprised that Kang Yi is not out there also. No
doubt he only returned to Peking last night, and so does not resume his
place on the Council till to-morrow morning.
_The Hour of the Monkey_ (3 P.M.).—Kang Yi has been here and I persuaded
him to stay for the mid-day meal. He is a worthy brother-in-law, and,
though twenty years younger than I am, as wise and discreet a man as any
on the Grand Council. He tells me that several hundred foreign devil
troops entered the City yesterday evening. He and Chao Shu-ch’iao arrived
at Peking at 4.30 P.M., and immediately set to composing their memorial
to the Empress Dowager about the heaven-sent Boxers, for presentation
to-morrow morning. Prince Tuan has five days’ leave of absence: Kang
Yi went to see him yesterday evening. While they were discussing the
situation, at the Prince’s own house, there came a Captain of Prince
Ch’ing’s bodyguard with a message. Saluting Prince Tuan, he announced
that about 300 foreign soldiers had left Tientsin in the afternoon as
reinforcement for the Legation Guards. Prince Ch’ing implored Prince Tuan
not to oppose their entry, on the ground that a few hundred foreigners,
more or less, could make no difference. He trusted that Prince Tuan
would give orders to his Corps (the “Celestial Tigers” Force) not
to oppose the foreign devils. It was the wish of the Old Buddha that
they should be permitted to guard the Legations. Prince Tuan asked for
further details, and the Captain said that Prince Ch’ing had received a
telegram from the Governor-General of Chihli (Yü Lu) to the effect that
the detachment carried no guns. At this Prince Tuan laughed scornfully
and said “How can the few resist the many? What indeed will a hundred
puny hobgoblins, more or less, matter?” Kang Yi, on the contrary, tells
me that he strongly urged Prince Tuan to issue orders to Chung Li, the
Commandant of the city, to oppose the entry of the foreign troops, but
it appears that Jung Lu had already ordered their admission. Kang Yi is
much incensed with Jung Lu about this, and cannot understand his motives.
It seems that towards the close of last year Prince Tuan and Jung Lu had
agreed to depose the Emperor and to put the Heir Apparent on the Throne,
and Tuan confesses that, were it not for Jung Lu’s great influence with
the Old Buddha she would never have agreed to select his son as Heir
Apparent. But now Jung Lu is for ever denouncing the Boxers and warning
the Empress against encouraging and countenancing them. Prince Tuan and
Kang Yi despair of ever being able to induce her to support the Boxers
whole-heartedly so long as Jung Lu is against them. As an example of her
present attitude, Prince Tuan told Kang Yi one day lately that his son,
the Ta-a-ko, had dressed himself up as a Boxer and was going through
their drill in the Summer Palace grounds with some eunuchs. The Old
Buddha saw him and promptly gave orders that he be confined to his rooms.
She also reprimanded the Grand Secretary, Hsü Tung, for not keeping a
better watch on his pupil and for permitting such unseemly behaviour, as
she called it.
[Illustration: H.M. THE EMPRESS DOWAGER AND LADIES OF HER COURT (1903).
Daughters of H. E. Yü Keng.
Second wife of H.M. Tzŭ Hsi. Wife of H. E. Yü Keng,
late Emperor. ex-Minister to Paris.
Empress Consort of Kuang-Hsü,
now Empress Dowager.]
After leaving Prince Tuan’s house, Kang Yi had gone out of the city
by the Ch’ien Men and had seen the foreign troops pass in. The people
muttered curses, he says, but no one molested them. What does it matter?
None of them will ever leave the city. Kang Yi’s journey to Chu-chou
has convinced him that the whole province stands together as one man;
even boys in their teens are drilling. Not a doubt of it; the foreigner
will be wiped out this time! At Chu-chou the Departmental Magistrate,
a man named Kung, had arrested several Boxer leaders, but Kang Yi and
Chao Shu-ch’iao ordered them to be released and made them go through
their mystic evolutions and drill. It was a wonderful sight, scarcely
to be believed; several of them were shot, some more than once, yet
rose uninjured from the ground. This exhibition took place in the main
courtyard of the Magistrate’s Yamên, in the presence of an enormous
crowd, tight pressed, as compact as a wall. Chao Shu-ch’iao remembers
having seen many years ago, in his native province of Shensi, a similar
performance, and it is on record that similar marvels were seen at the
close of the Han Dynasty, when Chang Chio headed the Yellow Turban
insurrection against the Government and took many great cities with half
a million of followers. They were said to be under the protection of the
Jade Emperor[72] and quite impervious to sword-thrusts. Kang Yi and Chao
Shu-Ch’iao will memorialise the Empress to-morrow, giving the results of
their journey and begging her to recognise the “patriotic train-bands” as
a branch of the army. But they should be placed under the supreme command
of Prince Tuan and Kang Yi, as Jung Lu, the Commander-in-Chief of the
Northern army, is so incredulous as to their efficacy against foreign
troops.
Although Major Domo Li Lien-ying is a warm supporter of the Boxers, and
never wearies of describing their feats to the Old Buddha, feats which
he himself has witnessed, it is by no means certain that the “kindly
Mother” will heed him so long as Jung Lu is opposed to any official
encouragement of the movement. And, besides, the nature of the Empress
is peace-loving; she has seen many springs and autumns. I myself know
well her refined and gentle tastes, her love of painting, poetry, and
the theatre. When in a good mood she is the most amiable and tractable
of women, but at times her rage is awful to witness. My father was
Comptroller-General of the Imperial Household, and it was his lot on one
occasion to experience her anger. This was in the sixth year of T’ung
Chih (1868), when she learned that the chief eunuch, “Hsiao An’rh,”[73]
had been decapitated in Shantung by the orders of the Co-Regent, the
late “Empress Dowager of the East.” She accused the Comptrollers of
the Household of being leagued together in treachery against her, as
they had not told her of what was going on she declared that Prince
Kung was plotting against her life, and that all her attendants were
associated in his treason. It was years before she forgave him. All An’s
fellow-eunuchs were examined under torture by the Department responsible
for the management and discipline of the Household. When the chief
eunuch’s betrayer was discovered by this means, he was flogged to death
by her orders in the Palace. But nowadays the Old Buddha’s heart has
softened, even towards foreigners, and she will not allow any of them to
be done away with. One word from her would be sufficient to bring about
their immediate and complete destruction, so that neither dog nor fowl
be left alive, and no trace be left of all their foreign buildings. Kang
Yi stayed with me about two hours and left to go and see Prince Tuan,
who was expecting Major Domo Li Lien-ying to come into the city this
afternoon.
K’un Hsiu, Vice-President of the Board of Works, called to see me. He
tells me that Prince Ch’ing habitually ridicules the Boxers in private
conversation, declaring them to be utterly useless, and unworthy of even
a smile from a wise man. In public, however, he is most cautious—last
week when the Old Buddha asked his opinion of them he replied by vaguely
referring to the possible value of train-bands for protection of the
Empire.
9 P.M.—My son En Ch’u has returned from Chi Shou-ch’eng’s theatricals;
everyone was talking, he says, of Jung Lu’s folly in allowing the foreign
troops to enter the city yesterday. Chi’s father-in-law, Yü Hsien, has
written to him from Shansi saying that for the present there are but few
Boxers enrolled in that province, but he is doing his best to further
the movement, so that Shansi may unite with the other provinces of the
north “to destroy those who have aroused the Emperor’s wrath.” By common
report, Yüan Shih-k’ai has now become a convert to Christianity: if he
too were to suppress the movement in Shantung, not death itself could
expiate his guilt.
En Chu’s wife is most undutiful; this evening she has had a quarrel
with my senior concubine, and the two women almost came to blows. Women
are indeed difficult to manage; as Confucius has said, “Keep them at a
distance, they resent it; treat them familiarly, and they do not respect
you.” I am seventy-eight years of age and sore troubled by my family;
their misconduct is hard for an old man to bear.
_12th Day of the 5th Moon_ (June 8th, 1900).—My son, En Ming, came in
this morning about midday; as Officer of the Bodyguard he had been in
attendance on the Empress coming in from the Summer Palace. Jung Lu
had been there yesterday morning and had had a long audience with Her
Majesty. He gave her details of the burning of the railway by the Boxers.
She was seriously alarmed and decided to return at once to the Winter
Palace on the Southern Lake. It seems she cannot make up her mind as to
the Boxers’ invulnerability. Jung Lu has again applied for leave. When he
is absent from the Grand Council, Kang Yi and Ch’i Hsiu have the greatest
influence with her. En Ming says that on the way to the city she kept
urging the chair-bearers to hurry, and seemed out of sorts—nervously
fanning herself all the time. At the Ying Hsiu gate of the Winter
Palace the Emperor and the Heir Apparent were kneeling to receive her.
No sooner had she reached the Palace than she summoned Prince Tuan to
audience, which lasted a long time. It is a pity that the Old Buddha
will not decide and act more promptly. The Emperor never speaks at
audience nowadays, although Her Majesty often asks him for his opinion.
Tung Fu-hsiang accompanied the Court into Peking; he denounced Jung Lu
at audience to-day, telling the Empress that if only the Legations were
attacked, he would undertake to demolish them in five days; but that Jung
Lu, by failing to support the Boxers, was a traitor to the Dynasty. The
Empire, said he, would be endangered unless the present opportunity were
seized to wipe off old scores against the foreigner. Tung is a coarse,
foul-spoken fellow, most violent in his manner towards us Manchus. Kang
Yi hates him, but for the present is only too willing to make use of him.
_14th day of the 5th Moon_ (June 10th).—Grand Councillor Ch’i Hsiu called
to-day—he showed me the draft of a Decree breaking off all relations with
foreigners, which he had prepared for the Empress’s signature; so far,
however, she has given no indication of agreeing to make war against
them. In the afternoon I went to Duke Lan’s residence—to-day being his
wife’s birthday. There are more than a hundred Boxers living in his outer
courtyard, most of them country-folk, under the command of a Banner
Captain named Wen Shun. Among them are five or six lads of thirteen or
fourteen who will fall into a trance, foam at the mouth, then rise up
and grasp wildly at anything that comes within their reach, uttering
the while strange uncouth noises. Duke Lan believes that by their magic
arts they will be able to guide him, when the time comes, to the houses
of Christian converts (_lit._ Secondary Devils). He says that his wife
goes often to the Palace and that she has told the Old Buddha of these
things. The “Ta Kung Chu” (Princess Imperial and adopted daughter of the
Empress Dowager) has over two hundred and fifty Boxers quartered at the
Palace outside the Hou Men, but she has not dared to tell the Empress
Dowager. Her brother, the “Prince” Tsai Ying, is also learning this
drill. Truly it is a splendid society! The Kansuh braves are now entering
the Chinese city, and thousands of people are preparing to leave Peking.
_16th day of the 5th Moon_ (June 12th).—Jung Lu attended the Grand
Council this morning. Prince Li, the Senior Councillor, did not dare to
tell the Empress that a foreign devil[74] had been killed yesterday by
the Kansuh braves just outside the Yung-Ting Gate. Jung Lu was called to
the audience chamber after Prince Li had retired, and Kang Yi believes
that he urged her to order Tung Fu-hsiang to leave the city with his
troops and at the same time to issue an Edict, bestowing posthumous
honours on the murdered foreigner. None of the other Grand Councillors
were summoned to audience; when Jung Lu left the presence, he returned
straightway to his own house and spake no word to any of his colleagues.
It is rumoured that more foreign troops are coming to Peking, and that
the Empress Dowager will not permit them to enter the city. In this Jung
Lu agrees with her. He has advised that all foreigners shall be allowed
to leave Peking, but that it is contrary to the law of nations to attack
the accredited representatives of foreign Powers.
_18th Day of the 5th Moon_ (June 14th).—Yesterday, just before nightfall,
En Ch’u came in to tell me that several hundred Boxers had entered the
Ha-Ta Gate. I was sorry that my lameness prevented me from going out to
see them, but I sent Hao Ching-ting to report. Well indeed, is it, that
I have lived to see this day; almost every foreign building except the
Legations had been burnt to the ground. Throughout the night flames burst
forth in every quarter of the city; a grand sight! Kang Yi has sent me a
message to say that he and Duke Lan went to the Shun Chih (S.W.) Gate at
about the third watch to encourage and direct the Boxers who were burning
the French Church. Hundreds of converts were burnt to death, men, women
and children, and so great was the stench of burning flesh that Duke Lan
and Kang Yi were compelled to hold their noses. At dawn Kang Yi went to
the Palace to attend the Grand Council. Major Domo Li Lien-ying told
him that the Old Buddha had watched the conflagrations from the hillock
to the west of the Southern Lake, and had plainly seen the destruction
of the French Church at the Shun-Chih Men. Li Lien-ying had told her
that the foreigners had first fired on the crowd inside the Ha-Ta Gate,
and that this had enraged the patriotic braves who had retaliated by
slaughtering the converts. It seems that Hsü T’ung is unable to get out
of his house because the foreign devils have barricaded the street; the
Old Buddha is anxious about him and has commanded Prince Ch’ing to ask
the foreign Legations to let him pass out. She is amazed at the Boxers’
courage, and Kang Yi believes that she is about to give her consent to
a general attack upon the Legations. Nevertheless, Li Lien-ying has
warned him that exaggerated praise of the Boxers arouses her suspicions,
and that, with the exception of Jung Lu, all the Grand Councillors are
afraid to advise her. Her Majesty is moving into the Palace of Peaceful
Longevity in the Forbidden City, as all these alarms and excursions
disturb her sleep at the Lake Palace.
_21st Day of the 5th Moon_ (June 17th).—A great fire has been raging all
to-day in the southern city. Those reckless Boxers set fire to a foreign
medicine store in the Ta Sha-lan’rh, and from this the flames spread
rapidly, destroying the shops of the wealthy goldsmiths and assayers.
Rightly says the Canon of History, “When fire rages on the Kun Lun
ridge, common pebble and precious jade will be consumed together.” The
Boxers themselves are worthy men, but there are among them many evil
doers whose only desire is plunder; these men, wearing the Boxer uniform,
bring discredit upon the real “patriotic braves.” The outer tower of the
Ch’ien Men having caught fire, the Empress ordered Jung Lu to send Banner
troops on to the wall so as to prevent any ruffians entering the Tartar
City by the Ta Ch’ing Gate.
In the afternoon my married niece came over to see her aunt: she has been
greatly alarmed by the uproar and fighting near her home, so they are
moving to her father-in-law’s house in the northern city.
I hear that Prince Tuan has now persuaded the Old Buddha to appoint
him President of the Tsung Li Yamên; also that she has authorised
him to require all foreigners to leave Peking, but they are to be
protected against any attacks by the Boxers. My old friend, Ch’i Hsiu,
has been made a Minister of the Tsung Li Yamên, also Na T’ung, the
Sub-Chancellor of the Grand Secretariat. The latter memorialised lately
advising the Throne to declare war before the foreign Powers could send
reinforcements; the Old Buddha has placed him in the Tsung Li Yamên
to assist Prince Tuan and Chi Hsiu in arranging for the foreigners’
departure from the city. Prince Ch’ing still says nothing for or against
the Boxers. Jung Lu has offered to escort the foreign Ministers half-way
to Tientsin, but he stipulates that the Viceroyalty of Chihli must be
taken from Yü Lu. My wife was taken seriously ill this evening; she kept
on muttering incoherently and rolling about on the k’ang as if in great
pain. We sent for Dr. Yung, who applied acupuncture.
_24th Day of the 5th Moon_ (June 20th).—Yesterday, at mid-day, Yü Lu’s
memorial reached the Throne. He says that the foreign devils have
actually demanded the surrender of the Taku forts, and he begs the
Empress Dowager to declare war on them forthwith, to make them atone for
their insolence and treachery. A special meeting of the Grand Council
was immediately called. The Old Buddha was very wroth, but said she would
postpone her decision until to-day, when all the Princes, Presidents and
Vice-Presidents of the Boards and Ministries, and the Lieutenant-Generals
of Banners, would meet in special audience. Prince Tuan, Ch’i Hsiu and Na
T’ung showed her a despatch from the foreign Ministers couched in most
insolent language demanding her immediate abdication, the degradation of
the Heir Apparent, and the restoration of the Emperor.[75] The Ministers
also asked that the Emperor should allow 10,000 foreign troops to enter
Peking to restore order. Kang Yi came to tell me that never had he seen
the Old Buddha so angry, not even when she learned of K’ang Yu-wei’s
treason. “How dare they question my authority!” she exclaimed. “If I can
bear this, what must not be borne? The insults of these foreigners pass
all bounds. Let us exterminate them before we eat our morning meal.”[76]
The wrath of the Old Buddha is indeed beyond control; neither Jung Lu,
nor any other can stop her now. She has told Jung Lu that if he wishes,
he may still offer to escort the foreign Ministers to Tientsin, but she
will give no guarantee for their safety on the journey because of their
monstrous suggestion that she should abdicate. She does not absolutely
desire their death, but says that the consideration she showed them in
allowing the Legation guards to enter the city, and her solicitude in
restraining the Boxers, have been ill-requited. “It were better,” says
she, “to go down in one desperate encounter than to surrender our just
rights at the bidding of the foreigner.”
Though only a woman, Her Majesty Tzŭ Hsi has all the courage of a man,
and more than the ordinary man’s intelligence.
_24th Day of the 5th Moon_: _The Hour of the Cock_, 5-7 P.M. (20th
June).—I have just returned from visiting my brother-in-law, the Grand
Secretary Kang Yi; he told me all about this morning’s audience. At the
hour of the Tiger (3-5 A.M.) the Grand Council assembled in the Palace
by the Lake, and were received by the Old Buddha in the Pavilion of the
Ceremonial Phœnix. All were there, Prince Li, Jung Lu, Kang Yi, Wang
Wen-shao, Ch’i Hsiu, and Chao Shu-ch’iao, but the Emperor was absent.
This was a special audience, preparatory to the general audience of all
the Princes and Ministers, and its object was to give the Grand Council
an opportunity of laying before Her Majesty any new facts or opinions
bearing upon the situation.
With tears in his eyes, Jung Lu knelt before Her Majesty; he confessed
that the foreigners had only themselves to blame if China declared
war upon them, but he urged her to bear in mind that an attack on the
Legations, as recommended by Prince Tuan and the rest of the Council,
might entail the ruin of the ancestral shrines of the Dynasty, as well as
the altars of the local and tutelary Gods. What good purpose, he asked,
would be served by the besieging nay, even by the destruction, of this
isolated handful of Europeans? What lustre could it add to the Imperial
arms? Obviously, it must be waste of energy and misdirected purpose.
The Old Buddha replied that if these were his views, he had better
persuade the foreigners to leave the city before the attack began; she
could no longer restrain the patriotic movement, even if she wished. If
therefore, he had no better advice than this to offer, he might consider
himself excused from further attendance at the Council.
Jung Lu thereupon kowtowed thrice and left the audience hall to return
to his own house. Upon his departure, Ch’i Hsiu drew from his boot the
draft of the Decree which was to declare war. Her Majesty read it and
exclaimed, “Admirable, admirable! These are exactly my views.” She
asked each Grand Councillor in turn for his opinion, and they declared
unanimously in favour of hostilities. It was now the hour appointed for
the general audience and Li-Lien-ying came in to conduct her Majesty to
her own apartments to take tea before proceeding to the “Hall of Diligent
Government.”
All the leading members of the Imperial Clan were kneeling at the
entrance to the Hall, awaiting their Majesties’ arrival: the Princes
Kung, Ch’un and Tuan; the “Beilehs” Tsai Lien and Tsai Ying; Duke
Lan and his brother the “Beitzu” Ying; Prince Ch’ing and the five
Grand Councillors; the Princes Chuang, Su and Yi; the Presidents,
Chinese and Manchu, of the six Boards and the nine Ministries; the
Lieutenants-General of the twenty-four Banner divisions; and the
Comptrollers of the Imperial Household. Their Majesties arrived together
in chairs, borne by four bearers. The Emperor alighted first, and knelt
as the “benign mother” left her palanquin and entered the Hall, supported
by the Chief Eunuch Li Lien-ying, and by his immediate subordinate, T’sui
Chin. The Emperor was ghastly pale, and it was observed that he trembled
as he took his seat on the Lower Throne by the Empress Dowager’s side.
The Old Buddha first called on all present to draw near to the Throne;
then, speaking with great vehemence, she declared that it was impossible
for her to brook these latest indignities put upon her by the foreigners.
Her Imperial dignity could not suffer it. Until yesterday, until, in
fact, she had read the dispatch addressed to the Tsungli Yamên by the
Diplomatic Body, it had been her intention to suppress the Boxers; but
in the face of their insolent proposal that she should hand over the
reins of government to the Emperor, who had already proved himself quite
unfitted to rule, she had been brought to the conclusion that no peaceful
solution of the situation was possible. The insolence of the French
Consul at Tientsin Tu Shih-lan (Du Chaylard), in demanding the surrender
of the Taku Forts was bad enough, but not so grievous an affront as
the Ministers’ preposterous proposal to interfere with her personal
prerogatives as Sovereign. Her decision was now taken, her mind resolved;
not even Jung Lu, to whom she had always looked for wise counsel, could
turn her from this purpose. Then, addressing more directly the Chinese
present, she bade them all to remember that the rule of her Manchu House
had conferred many and great benefits upon the nation for the past two
hundred and fifty years, and that the Throne had always held the balance
fairly in the benevolent consideration for all its subjects, north and
south alike. The Dynasty had scrupulously followed the teachings of the
Sages in administering the government; taxation had been lighter than
under any previous rulers. Had not the people been relieved, in time of
their distress, by grants from the Privy Purse? In her own reign, had
not rebellions been suppressed in such a manner as to earn the lasting
gratitude of the southern provinces? It was therefore now their duty to
rally to the support of the Throne, and to assist it in putting an end,
once and for all, to foreign aggression. It had lasted too long. If only
the nation were of one mind, it could not be difficult to convince these
barbarians that they had mistaken the leniency of the past for weakness.
That leniency had been great; in accordance with the principle which
prescribes the showing of kindness to strangers from afar, the Imperial
House had ever shown them the greatest consideration. The Emperor K’ang
Hsi had even allowed them liberty to propagate their religion, an act of
mistaken benevolence which had been an increasing cause of regret to his
successors. In matters of vital principle, she said, these foreigners
ignore the sacred doctrines of the Sages; in matters of detail, they
insult the customs and cherished beliefs of the Chinese people. They have
trusted in the strength of their arms, but to-day China can rely upon
millions of her brave and patriotic volunteers. Are not even striplings
taking up arms for the defence of their country? She had always been
of the opinion that the allied armies had been permitted to escape too
easily in the tenth year of Hsien Feng (1860), and that only a united
effort was then necessary to have given China the victory. To-day, at
last, the opportunity for revenge had come.
Turning to the Emperor, she asked for his opinion. His Majesty, after a
long pause, and with evident hesitation, urged her to follow Jung Lu’s
advice, to refrain from attacking the Legations, and to have the foreign
Ministers escorted in safety to the coast. But, he added, it must be for
her to decide. He could not dare to assume any responsibility in the
matter.
The junior Chinese Member of the Council, Chao Shu-ch’iao then spoke. He
begged the Old Buddha to issue her orders for the immediate extermination
of every foreigner in the interior, so as to avoid the danger of spies
reporting on the nature and extent of the patriotic movement. Her
Majesty commanded the Grand Council to consider this suggestion and to
memorialise in due course for an Edict.
After him, however, each in his turn, the Manchu Li-shan, and the Chinese
Hsü Ching-ch’eng and Yüan Ch’ang implored the Empress not to declare war
against the whole world. China, they said, could not possibly escape
defeat, and, even if the Empire should not be partitioned, there must
arise great danger of rebellion and anarchy from within. Yüan Ch’ang
even went so far as to say that he had served as a Minister of the
Tsungli Yamên for two years and that he had found foreigners to be
generally reasonable and just in their dealings. He did not believe in
the authenticity of the despatch demanding the Empress’s abdication,
which Prince Tuan professed to have received from the Diplomatic Body; in
his opinion, it was impossible that the Ministers should have dared to
suggest any such interference with China’s internal affairs.
At this Prince Tuan arose and angrily asked the Empress whether she
proposed to listen to the words of a Chinese traitor? Her Majesty rebuked
him for his loud and violent manner of speaking, but ordered Yüan Ch’ang
to leave the Audience Hall. No one else dared to say anything.
She then ordered the promulgation of the Decree, for immediate
communication to all parts of the Empire; at the same time announcing
her intention of sacrificing at the ancestral shrines before the
commencement of hostilities. Prince Chuang and Duke Lan were appointed
joint Commanders-in-Chief of the Boxers, but Tzŭ Hsi gave them clearly
to understand that if the foreign Ministers would agree to take their
departure from Peking this afternoon Jung Lu was to do his best to
protect them as far as Tientsin. Finally, the Empress ordered the Grand
Council to report themselves at mid-day for further orders. All were then
permitted to retire with the exception of Prince Tuan and Duke Lan; these
remained in special audience for some time longer. Hsü T’ung was present
at the general audience, having made good his escape from the Legation
quarter, and was congratulated by Her Majesty on his safety.
They say that Duke Lan told the Empress of a vision in which, the night
before, he had seen Yü Huang, the Jade Emperor. To him, and to his
company of Boxers while drilling, the god had appeared, and had expressed
his satisfaction with them and their patriotic movement. The Old Buddha
observed that the Jade Emperor had appeared in the same manner at the
beginning of the reign of the Empress Wu of the T’ang Dynasty (the most
famous woman ruler in Chinese history); the omen, she thought, showed
clearly that the gods are on the side of China and against the barbarians.
When, at the hour of the Sheep (1 P.M.) Kang Yi returned to the Palace,
he found Prince Ch’ing in the anteroom of the Grand Council, greatly
excited. It seems that En Hai,[77] a Manchu sergeant, had just come to
his residence and reported that he had shot and killed two foreigners
whom he had met, riding in sedan chairs that morning, just opposite the
Tsungpu Street. As orders had been issued by Prince Tuan and Ch’i Hsiu
to the troops that all foreigners were to be shot wherever met, and as
one of these two was the German Minister, he hoped that Prince Ch’ing
would recommend him for special promotion. Prince Tuan had already heard
the news and was greatly pleased. Prince Ch’ing and Kang Yi discussed
the matter and decided to inform the Empress Dowager at once. Kang Yi
did not think that the death of one foreign devil, more or less, could
matter much, especially now that it had been decided to wipe out the
Legations entirely, but Prince Ch’ing thought differently and reiterated
his opinion that the killing of an accredited Envoy is a serious matter.
Until now, only missionaries and their converts had been put to death,
but the murder of a Minister could not fail to arouse fierce indignation,
even as it did in the case of the British negotiator[78] who was captured
by our troops in the 10th year of Hsien-Feng (1860).
The Grand Council then entered the presence. Prince Li, as the senior
member of the Council, told the Old Buddha the news, but added that the
foreigners had brought it on themselves because they had first fired on
the people. Upon hearing this Her Majesty ordered Jung Lu to be summoned
in haste, but Kang Yi, being extremely busy with his work of providing
supplies for the Boxers, did not await his arrival.
Now, even as I write, they tell me that bullets are whizzing and
whistling overhead; but I am too deaf to hear them. En Ch’u says that
already the Kansuh braves have begun the attack upon the Legations and
that Jung Lu’s endeavours to have the foreigners escorted to a place of
safety have completely failed.
Liu Shun has just come in and asked for leave to go home for a week.
People are leaving the city in all directions and in great numbers.
_24th Day of the 5th Moon_: _the Hour of the Dog_, 7-9 P.M. (June 20th,
1900).—En Ming has just come in to inform me that a foreign devil[79]
has been captured by Tung Fu-hsiang’s troops. They were taking him,
wounded, to Prince Chuang’s Palace, prodding at him with their bayonets;
and he was babbling in his foreign tongue. He will be decapitated, and
his captors will receive good rewards (Prince Ch’ing has just been given
command of the gendarmerie). “The rut in which the cart was overturned
is just ahead.” Let this be a warning to those puny barbarian ruffians,
the soldiery encamped at the very gates of the Palace. (_This alludes to
the proximity of the Legations to the Palace enclosure._) Jung Lu was all
ready to escort the foreigners to Tientsin; he had with him over 2,000
Manchu troops. Doubtless he means well, but the Old Buddha now says that
she will not prevent the Kansuh braves from destroying the Legations. If
the foreigners choose to leave with Jung Lu, let them do so, and they
will not be attacked; but if they insist upon remaining, then their
punishment be upon their own heads, and “let them not say they were not
forewarned.”
Duke Lan sent over to invite me to breakfast with him to-morrow; he is
sore pressed with business cares just now; nevertheless, he and his
brothers always treat their old teacher with politeness and respect.
Though bellicose by nature, he is singularly gentle and refined. Chi
Pin[80] sent over to ask whether we would like to move to his house in
the north of the city, because the noise of the firing is very great in
our quarter, but I am so deaf that I hear not a sound of it all.[81]
Chi Pin is writing to his father-in-law, Yü Hsien, about the audience in
the Palace.
Duke Lan writes to tell me that this evening ⸺ informed Prince Tuan and
Chi Hsiu that, by the orders of that rascally Chinaman, Yüan Ch’ang,
the corpse of the foreign devil had been coffined. ⸺ wanted Prince Tuan
to have the corpse decapitated and the head exhibited over the Tung An
Gate. Yüan Ch’ang defends his action, saying that he knew the German
Minister personally at the Tsung Li Yamên, and he cannot bear the idea
of leaving his body uncoffined. Mencius says, “It is common to all men
to feel pity. No one can see a child fall into a well without a shudder
of commiseration and horror.” But these Chinese traitors of ours are
compassionate to the enemies of our glorious Kingdom, and the foes of our
ancient race. It is passing strange!
_25th Day of the 5th Moon: the Hour of the Monkey_, 3-5 P.M. (June
21st).—My chair-bearers have fled from the city, so to-day I had to
use my cart to go to Duke Lan’s residence. Prince Tuan and the Grand
Secretary, Kang Yi, were there; also Chung Li, lately Commandant of the
gendarmerie, and the “Beileh” Tsai Lien. Prince Tuan had seen the Old
Buddha this morning; their Majesties have moved from the Palace by the
lake into the Forbidden City. As the Empress Dowager was crossing the
road which runs between the Gate of the Hsi Yüan (Western Park) and
the Hsi Hua Gate of the Forbidden City she saw that a number of Boxers
had lined up on each side of the street as a Guard of Honour for the
“Sacred Chariot.” She presented them with 2,000 taels, congratulating
their commander, Prince Chuang, on their stalwart appearance. Said
the Old Buddha to Prince Tuan, “The foreigners are like fish in the
stew-pan. For forty years have I lain on brushwood and eaten bitterness
because of them, nursing my revenge like Prince Kou Chien of the Yüeh
State (5th Century B.C.). Never have I treated the foreigners otherwise
than generously; have I not invited their womenfolk to visit the Lake
Palace? But now, if only the country will stand together, their defeat is
certain.”
I think Prince Tuan hopes that the Old Buddha will now have the Ta-A-Ko
proclaimed Emperor; but unfortunately the Nanking Viceroy, Liu K’un-yi,
has much influence over her in this matter. When he was in Peking this
spring, in the second moon, he solemnly warned her against the Boxers and
ventured even to remonstrate at the Ta-A-Ko being made Heir Apparent.
Were it not for Liu K’un Yi, he would have been Emperor long since;
therefore Prince Tuan has a very bitter hatred against him. Liu told the
Old Buddha at his second audience that if H.M. Kuang Hsü were deposed,
the people of his province would assuredly rise in rebellion. What
concern is it of theirs who reigns in the Capital? His present Majesty’s
reign has brought many misfortunes to the nation; it is high time that it
came to an end. Why does not Prince Tuan enter the Palace and proclaim
his son Emperor? Tung Fu-hsiang’s Kansuh braves and the Prince’s own
Manchu soldiery would surely rally round him. But if Jung Lu opposed
them the Old Buddha would side with him. His wife[82] is for ever in the
Palace.
_26th Day of the 5th Moon_ (June 22nd).—I went this morning to Prince
Li’s palace in the western quarter of the city. I had to go in my small
cart, because my chair-bearers have either run away to their homes in
the country or had joined the Boxers. My two sons, En Ch’u and En Ming,
have been making arrangements to quarter one hundred Boxers in our outer
courtyard, and it seems that we shall have to supply them with food.
Although it cannot be denied that everyone should join in this noble work
of exterminating the barbarians, I grudge, nevertheless, spending money
in these hard times even for the Boxers, for rice is now become as dear
as pearls, and firewood more precious than cassia buds. It may be that,
in my old age, I am becoming like that Hsiao Lung, brother to the founder
of the Liang Dynasty, who was so miserly that he stored up his money in
heaps. On every heap of a million cash he would place a yellow label,
while a purple label marked each hoard of ten millions. It is recorded
of him, that his relatives abused him for this habit; as for me, my sons
would like to get at my money, but they cannot.
I find Prince Li much depressed in his mind; his treasure vaults contain
vast wealth; as senior member of the Grand Council, moreover, he feels
a weight of responsibility that is too much for him. His abilities are
certainly small, and I have never yet understood why the Old Buddha
appointed him to succeed Prince Kung as senior Councillor. He tells me
of a stormy meeting at the Grand Council this morning; it seems that Her
Majesty is greatly annoyed with Liu K’un-yi for sending in a telegram
strongly denouncing the Boxers. He has also telegraphed privately to Jung
Lu, imploring him to check their rebellion, but no one knows what answer
Jung Lu has made.
In his telegram to the Empress Dowager, which came forward by express
couriers from Pao-ting-fu, the Viceroy declares that he would be more
than ready to march north with all his troops if it were to repel a
foreign invasion, but he firmly declines to lend his forces for the
purpose of massacring a few helpless foreigners. Commenting on this, the
Empress Dowager quoted the words of the Classic Historical Commentary
(Tso Chüan): “The upper and lower jaws mutually assist each other; if
the lips shrivel, then must the teeth catch cold.” Thereby she meant
to imply that even such, in its close interdependence, is the relation
between the northern and southern parts of our Empire, and no one should
know this better than Liu K’un-yi, after his experiences at the time of
the Taiping Rebellion.
The Old Buddha has directed Prince Chuang, as head of the city
gendarmerie, to issue a proclamation offering Tls. 50 for every head of a
male barbarian brought in, Tls. 40 for that of a woman, and Tls. 30 for
that of a child.
While I was still talking with Prince Li, Jung Lu came over in his sedan
chair to visit his kinsman. He looks very tired, and walks with a limp.
He was loud in denouncing the Boxers, who, he says, are quite incapable
of doing any good. They had even now dared to shout abuse at him while
passing the “Houmen,” calling him a Chinese traitor. I could not help
thinking that Jung Lu deserved the name, but I did not say so. He is a
strong man, the strongest of all the Manchus, and I greatly fear that his
influence may yet be able to wreck all our hopes.
Returning to my house, I heard that the Princes Tuan and Chuang were
sending troops to surround the French Cathedral, which is defended by
a few foreign soldiers only, and which should, therefore, be easily
captured. Prince Li’s palace is within a stone’s throw of the cathedral,
and to enter the Forbidden City he has to pass just south of it,
through the “Hsi-Hua” gate. Although greatly disturbed by the impending
hostilities in his neighbourhood, he fears to move to a quieter locality,
lest, in his absence, his treasure vaults should be plundered. No doubt
the cathedral will fall in a few days.
My courtyard is now full of Boxers and Kansuh soldiery; I can no longer
call my house my own. How I loathe these cursed foreigners for causing
all this disturbance!
_The same Day: at the Hour of the Dog_ (7-9 P.M.).—I learn that Jung Lu
has just sent off a courier with a telegram, which Yüan Shih-k’ai is to
send on to the Viceroys of Canton, Nanking and Wucha’ng. Prince Li has
sent me a copy, which I am to keep secret; it reads as follows:—
“With all respect I have received your telegrams. Where one
weak people dares to oppose ten or more powerful nations, the
inevitable result can only be complete ruin. It has always been
maintained as a fixed principle with civilised nations, that,
in the event of war between any two Powers, their respective
Envoys should be treated with respect. Can it now be that
this our great inheritance, founded by our remote ancestors
at so great a cost of toil and danger, is to be endangered,
and suddenly brought to ruin, by these false workers of magic?
Shall the fate of the Dynasty be staked on a single throw?
It requires no peculiar sagacity to see that these Boxers’
hopes of success are nothing but the shadow of a dream. It is
true and undeniable, that, from their Majesties on the Throne
down to the very lowest of our people, all have suffered from
the constant aggression of foreigners and their unceasing
insults. For this reason these patriotic train-bands have been
organised, claiming a divine mission of retaliation; but the
present crisis is all-serious, and although I have used every
effort to explain its dangers, I have laboured in vain. I am
sick and suffering from lameness, but since I obtained leave
of absence I have already submitted seven separate memorials
denouncing these Boxers. Seeing that they produced no result,
I have now left my sick bed, in order, if possible, to explain
the situation clearly to their Majesties; and this also has
been in vain.
“All the Princes and Ministers of State who surround the Throne
now cry out against me with one voice, as your Excellencies
can readily believe. I dare not quote in this place the words
of Her Majesty, but I may say that the whole of the Imperial
family have joined the Boxers, and at least two-thirds of our
troops, both Manchu and Chinese, are with them. They swarm in
the streets of our capital like a plague of locusts, and it
will be extremely difficult to disperse them.
“Even the divine wisdom of Her Majesty is not sufficient to
stand against the will of the majority. If Heaven is not on
our side, how can I oppose its will? For several days past
I have been pondering night and day on some way out of our
difficulties, some forlorn hope of escape. Therefore yesterday
morning (June 20th) I arranged for a meeting with the foreign
Ministers at the Tsung Li Yamên, with a view to providing
a safe conduct for the entire foreign community, with my
own troops, to Tientsin. This course appeared to me to hold
out some reasonable chances of success, but Prince Tuan’s
soldiery slew the German Minister, and since then the situation
continues to develop from hour to hour with such extraordinary
rapidity that words fail me to describe it. On my side, in the
discussions of the Grand Council and the Chamberlains of the
Presence, are Prince Ch’ing and Wang Wen-shao, but the former,
following his usual practice, has applied for leave, and Her
Majesty will have nothing to do with him; so that these two
are of no real assistance to me. I have no fear of death, but
I grieve at the thought of the guilt which will be recorded
against me in history; Heaven knows that I am overwhelmed with
grief and shame. I have received great favours at the hands
of the Throne, and can only now pray to the spirits of the
Dynastic ancestors to protect our Empire. The situation here
is well-nigh lost, but it remains for your Excellencies to
take all possible steps for the protection of your respective
provinces. Let each do his utmost, and let proper secrecy be
maintained.” Signed “Jung Lu, with tears in his eyes.”
It is reported from the Grand Council that Chang Chih-tung has
telegraphed to Her Majesty, assuring her of his devotion and loyalty, and
asking whether he should come north with his troops to help in the work
of destroying the barbarians. Chang is a time-server, and loves not the
Emperor;[83] we have not forgotten how he approved the Decree appointing
an Heir Apparent, and how he would have been a party to His Majesty’s
removal from the Throne, justifying himself on quibbling grounds of
legality and precedents as to the lawful succession. He trims his
sails according to the wind of the moment, and has no courage of fixed
principles, like Liu K’un-yi. I despise the latter’s views in opposing
the Boxers, but no one can help admiring his upright character.
(_At this point the diarist proceeds to give a full account of the rise
and spread of the Boxer movement, describing in detail their magic rites,
their incantations, and their ceremonies of initiation. The facts have
nearly all been published before, so that most of this portion of the
Diary is here omitted. It is chiefly interesting as showing to what
heights of superstition even the most educated of the Manchus, including
the Empress Dowager, could go. We give one example only of the farrago of
gibberish which, believed in high quarters, nearly brought about the end
of the Dynasty._)
The Boxers also possess a secret Talisman, consisting of a small piece of
yellow paper, which they carry on their persons when going into battle.
On it is drawn, in vermilion paint, a figure which is neither that of
man nor devil, demon nor saint. It has a head, but no feet; its face is
sharp-pointed, with eyes and eyebrows, and four halos. From the monster’s
heart to its lower extremities runs a mystic inscription, which reads:
“I am Buddha of the cold cloud; before me lies the black deity of fire;
behind is Laotzu himself.” On the creature’s body are also borne the
characters for Buddha, Tiger, and Dragon. On the top left-hand corner are
the words “invoke first the Guardian of Heaven,” and on the right-hand
corner, “invoke next the black gods of pestilence.” The Empress Dowager
has learned this incantation by heart, and repeats it seventy times
daily, and every time that she repeats it the chief eunuch (Li Lien-ying)
shouts: “There goes one more foreign devil.” The Boxers determine the
fate of their victims by a curious test, which consists of burning a
ball of paper, and seeing whether the ashes ascend or remain upon the
ground. They may believe that it is the spirits who decide, but, as
a matter of fact, these balls of paper are sometimes made of thinner
material, which naturally leave a lighter ash that is easily caught up in
the air; whereas, when they use thick paper, the ashes seldom rise. Some
of the balls are also more tightly rolled than others, and it is quite
evident that the ashes of the loose ones have a much better chance of
blowing away than those which are tightly rolled. Similarly, when they
set fire to any place, they profess to be guided by their gods, and they
say that fire leaps forth at the point of their swords in any quarter
which the spirits desire to have destroyed. As a matter of fact, however,
there is deception practised in this also, for when they wish to burn
any place for purposes of plunder they have it sprinkled in advance with
kerosene oil, and if no oil is available, they even pile up brushwood
around it, upon which they drop a lighted match secreted upon their
persons.
_27th Day of the 5th Moon_ (June 23rd).—The foreign barbarian of whom I
have written[84] was executed this morning at the hour of the Hare (6
A.M.) and his head is now exhibited in a cage, hanging from the main beam
of the “Tung-An” gate. It had to be put in a cage, as there was no queue
to hang it by. The face has a most horrible expression, but it is a fine
thing, all the same, to see a foreigner’s head hung up at our palace
gates. It brings back to memory the heads that I saw outside the Board
of Punishments in the tenth year of Hsien-Feng (1860), but there were
black devils among those. Jung Lu tried to save the barbarian’s life, and
even intended to rescue him by force, but the Princes Tuan and Chuang had
determined upon his death, and they had him executed before Jung Lu knew
it, so that, when his men arrived upon the scene, the foreigner’s head
had already parted company from his body. The Princes had him kneeling
before them yesterday for several hours on a chain, and all the time he
kept on imploring them to spare his life; his groans were most painful
to hear. The Old Buddha has been informed of his death, and she gave
orders that Tls. 500 be distributed to the soldiers who had captured him,
_i.e._ a reward ten times greater than that which was promised in the
proclamations.
[Illustration: THE TA-A-KO, SON OF PRINCE TUAN, THE BOXER LEADER.
Appointed Heir-Apparent in January, 1900. Appointment rescinded November,
1901.]
The Boxers who occupy my courtyard tried to take away my cigars from
me, but subsequently relented and allowed me to keep them because of my
extreme old age. Nothing of foreign origin, not even matches, may be used
nowadays, and these Boxer chiefs, Chang Te-ch’eng and Han Yi-li, both of
whom are common and uneducated men, are treated with the greatest respect
even by Princes of the blood: a curious state of affairs indeed!
Duke Tsai Lan came to see me this afternoon. He tells me an extraordinary
story how that the Heir Apparent called the Emperor a “Devil’s pupil”
this morning, and, when rebuked for it, actually boxed His Majesty’s
ears. The Emperor then reported the facts in a memorial to Her Majesty,
who flew into a towering rage, and gave orders to the eunuch Ts’ui to
administer twenty sharp strokes of the whip on the Heir Apparent’s
person. Prince Tuan is much enraged at this, but he is horribly afraid of
Her Majesty, and, when she speaks to him, “he is on tenter-hooks, as if
thorns pricked him, and the sweat runs down his face.”
T’ung Fu-hsiang told the Empress Dowager yesterday that the Legations
have come to the end of their tether. From a rockery on some high ground
in the Forbidden City gardens, the Old Buddha could see the flames
bursting from the Legation quarter, and was more than once assured that
final destruction had come upon the foreigners at last. But later in the
afternoon, Hsü Ching-ch’eng was received in audience, when he presented a
memorial which he and Yüan Chang had drawn up, denouncing the Boxers; he
told Her Majesty that it was not the Legations, but the Han Lin Academy,
that was in flames, the Kansuh soldiery having set fire to it in the hope
that the conflagration might spread and thus enable them to force a way
into the Legation. Her Majesty was greatly disappointed and displeased,
severely blaming Tung Fu-hsiang, and she sent for Jung Lu and talked with
him in private for a long while.
Good news has come in to-day of victorious fighting at Tientsin; Yü Lu
reports that many foreigners were slain in their attack on the Taku
forts, and several of their warships sunk. Practically the whole of the
foreign community of Tientsin had been annihilated, he says.
Many hundreds of Chinese Christians were put to death to-day just outside
Prince Chuang’s palace. The judges who convicted them were Prince Chuang,
Yi Ku, Fen Che, and Kuei Ch’un. There was no mercy shown, and a large
number of innocent people perished with the guilty. The Empress is
essentially a kind-hearted woman, and she was greatly shocked to hear of
this wholesale massacre. She was heard to say that if the Catholics would
only recant and reform, a way of escape might very well be provided for
them.
_29th Day of the 5th Moon_ (June 25th).—To-day about sixty of the
Boxers, led by the Princes Tuan and Chuang, and the “Beilehs” Tsai Lien
and Tsai Ying, marched to the Palace at 6 o’clock in the morning to
search there for converts. Coming to the gate of the Palace of Peaceful
Longevity, where their Majesties were still abed, they noisily clamoured
for the Emperor to come out, denouncing him as a friend of foreigners.
Prince Tuan was their spokesman. I heard of the incident from Wen Lien,
Comptroller of the Household, who was on duty this morning; he was amazed
at the foolhardy effrontery of Prince Tuan, and thought that he had
probably been drinking. On hearing the noise outside and the shouts of
the Boxers clamouring to kill all “Devil’s pupils,” the Old Buddha, who
was taking her early tea, came out swiftly and stood at the head of the
steps, while the Princes and the Boxer leaders swarmed in the court-yard
below her. She asked Prince Tuan whether he had come to look upon himself
as the Emperor; if not, how dared he behave in this reckless and insolent
manner? She would have him know that she, and she alone, had power to
create or depose the Sovereign, and she would have him remember that the
power which had made his son Heir Apparent could also wipe him out in
a moment. If he and his fellow Princes thought that because the State
was at a crisis of confusion they could follow their own inclinations
in matters of this kind, they would find themselves very seriously
mistaken. She bade them depart, and refrain from ever again entering
the palace precincts, except when summoned to her presence on duty. But
they would first prostrate themselves and ask His Majesty’s pardon for
their insolent behaviour. As a slight punishment for their offences, she
further commanded that the Princes be mulcted of a year’s allowances. As
to the Boxer chiefs, who had dared to create this uproar in her hearing,
they should be decapitated upon the spot, and Jung Lu’s guards, who were
on duty at the outer gates, were ordered to carry this sentence into
immediate effect. Her Majesty is so greatly incensed against the Boxers
at this moment that everyone thinks that Jung Lu will now be able to put
a stop to the attacks on the Legations. The Emperor was much alarmed at
this incident, and when it was over humbly thanked Her Majesty for so
benevolently protecting him.
_Later_; 9 P.M.—The Old Buddha has suddenly determined, in her rage
against Prince Tuan and his followers, to put a stop to the fighting in
Peking, and she now agrees that Jung Lu shall proceed to the Legations
to discuss terms of peace. At 6 P.M. to-day all firing stopped, and Jung
Lu, at the head of his troops, proceeded to the bridge which lies on
the north of the Legation quarter. The foreigners came out from their
hiding-places and commenced to parley; they were shown a board, and on
it the words written: “Orders have now been received from the Empress
Dowager to afford due protection to the Legations.” Jung Lu hoped to be
able to induce the foreign Ministers to confer with him for the purpose
of restoring order. For three hours not a shot has been fired; but En
Ming has just come in to tell me that the situation has again changed,
and that the Old Buddha has heard such good accounts of the defeat of
the foreign relief force on its way to Peking that she is once more
determined to give the Boxers their head and “to eat the flesh and sleep
on the skins” of the foreign devils.
_4th Day of the 6th Moon: at the Hour of the Dog_, 7 P.M. (June 30,
1900).—Kang Yi called to-day, and remained with me for the evening meal.
He tells me that Tung Fu-hsiang called in person this morning on Jung Lu
at his residence, and asked him for the loan of the heavy artillery which
is under his orders. Jung Lu is said to have ample armaments in stock
in the city, the property of the Wu Wei-chün (Military Defence Corps)
sufficient to knock every foreign building to pieces in a few hours.
Tung was kept waiting at Jung Lu’s door for over an hour; when finally
admitted, he began to bluster, whereupon Jung Lu feigned sleep. “He
gave no consent, but leant on his seat and slumbered.”[85] Tung then
expostulated with Jung Lu for his rudeness, but the Commander-in-chief
only smiled, and brought the interview to an end by remarking that Tung’s
only way to get the guns would be to persuade the Old Buddha to give him
Jung Lu’s head with them. “Apply for an audience at once,” he said. “She
believes you to be a brave man and will certainly comply with any request
you may make.”
Tung Fu-hsiang left in a towering rage, and made straight for the
Forbidden City, although the hour for audiences was long since past. At
the gate of the Hall of Imperial Supremacy (Huang Chi-tien) he made a
loud disturbance, bidding the eunuchs inform Her Majesty that the Kansuh
Commander-in-chief was without, desiring audience. It so happened that
the Old Buddha was engaged in painting a design of bamboos on silk, and
she was highly displeased at being thus disturbed. Tung was ushered in,
however, and fell on his knees. “Well,” said Her Majesty, “I suppose
that you have come to report the complete destruction of the Legations?
This will be the tenth time since the end of last Moon.” “I have come,”
replied Tung Fu-hsiang, “to ask Your Majesty’s permission to impeach the
Grand Secretary Jung Lu as a traitor and the friend of barbarians. He has
the guns which my army needs; with their aid not a stone would be left
standing in the whole of the Legation quarter. But he has sworn never to
lend these guns, even though Your Majesty should command it.” Angrily
the Old Buddha replied, “Be silent. You were nothing but a brigand to
begin with, and if I allowed you to enter my army it was only to give
you an opportunity of atoning for your former misdeeds. Even now you are
behaving like a brigand, forgetting the majesty of the Imperial Presence.
Of a truth, your tail is becoming too heavy to wag. Leave the Palace
forthwith, and do not let me find you here again unless summoned to
audience.”
[Illustration: Reproduction of Picture painted on Silk, by Her Majesty
Tzŭ Hsi.]
Kang Yi declares that we shall never take the Legations so long as Jung
Lu continues to exercise his present great influence at Court. Li Shan,
who is also a great favourite of the Empress Dowager, is now on the side
of those who would make peace with the foreigners, and has been impeached
for it by Na T’ung.
The following proclamation is now placarded all over the city, in
accordance with the Empress Dowager’s orders issued to Prince Chuang.
They say that she means to pay the rewards from her own privy purse:
“REWARDS.
“Now that all foreign churches and chapels have been razed to
the ground, and that no place of refuge or concealment is left
for the foreigners, they must unavoidably scatter, flying in
every direction. Be it therefore known and announced to all
men, scholars and volunteers, that any person found guilty of
harbouring foreigners will incur the penalty of decapitation.
For every male foreigner taken alive a reward of 50 taels will
be given; for every female 40 taels, and for every child 30
taels; but it is to be clearly understood that they shall be
taken alive, and that they shall be genuine foreigners. Once
this fact has been duly authenticated, the reward will be paid
without delay. A special proclamation, requiring reverent
obedience.”
Much larger rewards than these were paid in the tenth year of Hsieng-Feng
(1860) for the heads of barbarians, but of course in those days they were
comparatively rare, whereas now, alas, they have become as common as bees!
This morning an important trial took place outside the gate of Prince
Chuang’s palace; Yi Ku, Fen Che, and Kuei Ch’un presided. Over nine
hundred people were summarily executed by the Boxers, in some cases
before any proofs whatsoever had been substantiated in regard to their
alleged connection with foreigners. Helpless babes even were amongst
the slain. Fen Che is nothing more than a butcher and the Old Buddha
remonstrated with Prince Chuang for not keeping the Boxers in better
order.
_8th Day of the 6th Moon_, 11 A.M. (July 4th).—Yü Hsien’s son-in-law, Chi
Shou-ch’eng, came and talked with me for a long while. The bombardment
of the city was going on all the time he was here, and to the south of
my house, close to the Imperial City Wall, the troops of Li Ping-heng
were mounting cannon on an elevated platform. They are all still very
wroth with Jung Lu, who refuses to lend his guns, and his troops are so
faithful to him that it is impossible to bribe them to disobey him. Jung
Lu’s courage is really extraordinary; he said of himself lately, that
“in the days of the wicked Ruler (meaning Prince Tuan) he bided his time
on the shores of the bleak North Sea, awaiting the purification of the
Empire.”[86] I am told that Prince Tuan has taken possession of one of
the Imperial Seals, so as to be able to proclaim his son Emperor at the
first favourable opportunity; but if the Old Buddha finds this out, as
most probably she will, there is trouble ahead for Prince Tuan.
Chi Shou-ch’eng tells me that Yü Hsien has sent in a memorial to the
Empress Dowager with reference to the missionaries in Shansi. Ten days
ago she had sent him a secret Decree, saying, “Slay all foreigners
wheresoever you find them; even though they be prepared to leave your
province, yet must they be slain.” It seems that the Old Buddha ordered
that this Decree should be sent to every high provincial official in the
Empire, but it is now reported that Tuan Fang, the acting governor of
Shensi, and Yü Chang, governor of Honan, together with the high officials
in Mongolia, received the Edict in a very different form, for the word
“slay” had been changed to “protect.” It is feared that some treacherous
minister is responsible for this, but no one dares inform Her Majesty.
To Yü Hsien’s latest memorial, she has made the following reply, which
has been sent by the fastest express riders to T’ai-Yüan fu:—“I command
that all foreigners—men, women, and children, old and young—be summarily
executed. Let not one escape, so that my Empire may be purged of this
noisome source of corruption, and that peace may be restored to my loyal
subjects.” Chi Shou-ch’eng tells me that Yü Hsien’s bitterness against
foreigners is inspired by his wife, of whom he is greatly afraid.
He himself has earned golden opinions in T’ai-Yüan during his short
administration, and has a high reputation for even-handed justice. He
says also that this last Decree gave pleasure to Prince Chuang; Jung Lu
tried to stop it, asking the Old Buddha what glory could China expect
to gain by the slaughter of women and children. “We should become the
laughing-stock of the world,” he said, “and the Old Buddha’s widespread
fame and reputation for benevolence would be grievously injured.” “Yes,”
replied the Empress Dowager, “but these foreigners of yours wish to see
me deposed, and I am only paying off old scores. Ever since the days of
Tao-Kuang this uproarious guest within our borders has been maltreating
his hosts, and it is time that all should know who is the real master of
the house.”
Yesterday afternoon the Empress Dowager crossed over to the Lake Palace
for a water picnic, attended by several ladies of the Court. The
continuous bombardment of the French cathedral eventually made her head
ache, so she despatched a chamberlain to the officer commanding at the
Hsi-Hua Gate, ordering them to cease firing until her return to the
Forbidden City.
_11th Day of the 6th Moon_ (7th July).—Yü Lu has sent in a ridiculous
memorial, reporting the capture of four camels, as well as the killing of
many foreigners, in Tientsin. Jung Lu has advised him to cease attacking
the foreign Settlements. Talking of Jung Lu, I hear that Tung Fu-hsiang
recently hired a Manchu soldier to assassinate him, but, instead of
doing so, the man betrayed the plot to Jung Lu. This soldier turns out
to be a brother of that En Hai who slew the foreign devil (Baron von
Ketteler), and Tung thought therefore that he would gladly do anything
to assist in destroying the Legations. But he is a clansman of Jung Lu’s
banner, and, like Yü Kung-ssŭ, whom Mencius called the best archer in
Wei, “he could not bear to slay the old Chief who had taught him the
arts of war.” Jung Lu has again memorialised the Old Buddha, reminding
her of that well-known saying in the Spring and Autumn annals,[87] which
lays down that the persons of foreign Envoys are always inviolate within
the territories of any civilised State. This attack on the Legation, he
says, is worse than an outrage; it is a piece of stupidity which will
be remembered against China for all time. Her Majesty appeared to think
that, because a small nation like the Transvaal could conquer a great
Power like England, China must necessarily be even more successful in
fighting the whole world; but there was no analogy between the two cases.
If peace were to be made at once, the situation might still be saved; but
if the Legations were demolished, there must be an end of Manchu rule. He
warned Her Majesty solemnly, and she appears to be gradually coming to
look at things from his point of view. These Boxers can certainly talk,
but they do very little.
Bad news has reached the palace to-day of the fighting around Tientsin,
and Her Majesty is most anxious about it, though she still refuses to
believe that the foreign brigands can possibly enter Peking.
_15th Day of the 6th Moon_ (11th July).—My neighbour Wen Lien,
Comptroller-General of the Imperial Household, tells me that the Old
Buddha is in a furious rage. She finds the heat trying, and yesterday she
turned on the Heir Apparent and snubbed him badly for impertinence; he
had asked if he might be permitted to escort her to Jehol, leaving the
Emperor to settle matters with his foreign friends in Peking. One of the
young eunuchs tried to mollify her by reporting, whenever the report of
a gun was heard, that another foreign devil had been killed, but as the
Old Buddha observed, “there has been enough firing for the past few weeks
to kill off every foreigner in China several times, and so far there is
hardly anything to show for it.”
_17th Day of the 6th Moon_ (13th July).—Jung Lu asked Her Majesty
yesterday what she would do if the Boxers were defeated, and if Peking
were captured by the foreigners. In reply, she quoted to him the words
of Chia Yi, a sophist of the Han dynasty, in reference to the Court’s
diplomatic dealings with the Khan of the Hans:—
“If the Emperor wishes to gain the allegiance of other
countries, he can only do so by convincing their rulers that
he possesses the three cardinal virtues of government, and by
displaying the five allurements.
These allurements are: (1) Presents of chariots and rich robes,
to tempt the eye; (2) rich food and banquets, to tempt the
palate; (3) musical maidens, to tempt the ear; (4) fine houses
and beautiful women, to tempt the instinct of luxury; and (5)
the presence of the Emperor at the table of the foreign ruler,
to tempt his pride.
The three cardinal virtues of government are: (1) to simulate
affection; (2) to express honeyed sentiments; and (3) to treat
one’s inferiors as equals.”
Two years ago, said the Empress, she had invited the foreign ladies to
her Court, and had noticed their delight at the reception she gave them,
although she well knew that their sympathies were with the Emperor, and
against her. She would again allure them to her side with rich gifts and
honeyed words.[88]
_20th Day of the 6th Moon_ (16th July).—Bad news from Yü Lu; Tientsin
has been captured by the foreigners, who now swarm like locusts. Not
one of the Grand Councillors dared to carry the news to Her Majesty, so
Prince Tuan went in boldly, and informed her that the foreign devils had
taken the city, because the Boxers had been negligent in the performance
of their prescribed rites; Peking, however, would always be perfectly
safe from invasion. Early this morning Jung Lu had informed the Old
Buddha that he had ascertained beyond doubt that the document, which
purported to come from the Foreign Ministers, demanding her abdication,
was a forgery. It had been prepared by Lien Wen-chung, a Secretary of
the Grand Council, at Prince Tuan’s orders. The Old Buddha was therefore
in no soft mood; angrily she told Prince Tuan that, if the foreigners
entered Peking, he would certainly lose his head. She was quite aware of
his motives; he wanted to secure the Regency, but she bade him beware,
for, so long as she lived, there could be no other Regent. “Let him be
careful, or his son would be expelled from the palace, and the family
estates confiscated to the throne.” His actions had indeed been worthy of
the dog’s[89] name he bore. Prince Tuan left the palace, and was heard to
remark that “the thunderbolt had fallen too quickly for him to close his
ears.”
Jung Lu has won over all the military commanders except Tung Fu-hsiang
and his staff, and they have come to a general understanding that the
bombardment of the Legations must cease. Jung Lu has explained, as his
reason for not allowing the heavy artillery to be used, that it would
inevitably have inflicted serious damage on the Imperial shrines and the
Ancestral temple.
The Old Buddha is sending presents to the Legations, water-melons, wine,
vegetables, and ice, and she has expressed a wish that Prince Ch’ing
should go and see the Foreign Ministers.
They say that Hsü Ching-ch’eng is secretly communicating with the
Legations.
A messenger with twelve dispatches from the Legations was captured to-day
and taken to Prince Chuang’s Palace. Three of the twelve were in cipher
and could not be translated by the Tsung Li Yamên interpreter, but from
the others it was learned that the foreigners had lost over a hundred
killed and wounded and that their provisions were running very low.
Chi Shou-ch’eng has gone to T’ai-Yüan fu to see Yü Hsien, his
father-in-law. The latter has memorialised the Throne, reporting that he
cunningly entrapped all the foreigners, cast them into chains and had
every one decapitated in his Yamên. Only one woman had escaped, after her
breasts had been cut off, and had hidden herself under the City wall. She
was dead when they found her.
Rain has fallen very heavily to-day. Liu Ta-chiao brought me 8 lbs. of
pork from the Palace kitchen, and I sent a large bowl of it to my married
sister. Towards evening a detachment of cavalry, with several guns,
passed my door. They were Li Ping-heng’s men, on their way to mount these
guns on a platform above the Forbidden City wall, as a precaution against
sorties by the foreigners. There has been heavy firing all night, and it
is reported that foreign devils have been seen in the neighbourhood of
the Ha-Ta Men.
_21st Day of the 6th Moon_ (17th July).—A lovely day. I walked over
to call on Prince Li and Duke Lan. The latest rumour is that Yü Lu’s
troops are in flight and harrying the country side. They are said to be
clamouring for their pay, which is months in arrears, and have plundered
both Tungchou and Chang Chia-wan most thoroughly. Both the eastern gates
of the City are now kept closed, and the northern gate (Anting men) is
only opened occasionally.
Yang Shun, the gate-keeper, has returned from his home at Pao-ti hsien,
east of Peking, where he reports things fairly quiet.
Li Ping-heng’s troops are reported to have won a great victory and driven
the barbarians to the sea. Nevertheless, heavy firing was heard to the
south-eastward this afternoon.
Duke Lan has gone out with a large force of Boxers to search for converts
reported to be in hiding in the temple of the Sun.
_27th Day of the 6th Moon_ (23rd July).—This morning Yüan Ch’ang and Hsü
Ching-ch’eng handed in the third of their Memorials against the Boxers,
in which they recommend the execution of several members of the Grand
Council. Their valour seems to be more laudable than their discretion,
especially as the Old Buddha is disposed once more to believe in the
Boxers as the result of Li Ping-heng’s audience with her yesterday. He
came up from Hankow, and has now been appointed joint Commander, with
Jung Lu, of the army of the North. He confidently assured her of his
ability to take the Legations by storm, and repeatedly said that never
again would the tutelary deities of the Dynasty suffer her to be driven
forth, in humiliation, from her capital.
I went across to Duke Lan’s house this morning and found Prince Tuan
and Li Ping-heng there. They were busy planning a renewed attack on
the Legations, and Li was strongly in favour of mining from the Hanlin
Academy side. He has advised the Empress Dowager that a mine should be
sprung, as was done lately at the French Cathedral, and he is convinced
that in the ensuing confusion the foreigners would be easily overwhelmed.
After reading the latest Memorial of Hsü and Yüan, the Old Buddha
observed, “These are brave men. I have never cared much for Hsü, but Yüan
behaved well in 1898 and warned me about K’ang Yu-wei and his plotting.
Be that as it may, however, they have no business to worry me with these
persistent and querulous questions. The Throne itself is fully competent
to judge the character of its servants, and it is a gross misconception
of duty for ‘the acolyte to stride across the sacred vessels and show
the priest how to slaughter the sacrificial beasts.’[90] Desiring to
deal leniently with the Memorialists, I command that my censure be
communicated to them and that they take heed to refrain in future from
troubling my ears with their petulant complainings.”
_3rd Day of the 7th Moon_ (28th July).—The Old Buddha places much
confidence in Li Ping-heng. Yesterday he and Kang Yi discovered that
the word “to slay,” in Her Majesty’s Decree ordering the extermination
of all foreigners, had been altered to “protect” by Yüan Ch’ang and Hsü
Ching-ch’eng. I have just seen Kang Yi, and he says that Her Majesty’s
face was divine in its wrath. “They deserve the punishment meted out
to Kao Ch’u-mi,”[91] she said, “their limbs should be torn asunder
by chariots driven in opposite directions. Let them be summarily
decapitated.” An Edict was forthwith issued, but no mention is made in
it of the alteration of the Decree, as this is a matter affecting the
nation’s prestige; the offenders are denounced only for having created
dissensions in the Palace and favoured the cause of the foreigner. Both
were executed this morning; my son, En Ming, witnessed their death. It
is most painful to me to think of the end of Yüan Ch’ang, for he had
many sterling qualities; as for Hsü, I knew him in the days when we were
colleagues at the Grand Secretariat, and I never had a high opinion of
the man. His corruption was notorious. Just before the sword of the
executioner fell, Yüan remarked that “he hoped that the Sun might soon
return to its place in the Heaven, and that the usurping Comet might be
destroyed.” By this he meant that Prince Tuan’s malign influence had led
the Empress Dowager to act against her own better instincts. Duke Lan,
who was superintending the execution, angrily bade him be silent for a
traitor, but Yüan fearlessly went on, “I die innocent. In years to come
my name will be remembered with gratitude and respect, long after you
evil-plotting Princes have met your well-deserved doom.” Turning then to
Hsü, he said, “We shall meet anon at the Yellow Springs.[92] To die is
only to come home.” Duke Lan stepped forward as if to strike him, and the
headsman quickly despatched them both.
_8th Day of the 7th Moon_ (3rd August).—I have had much trouble with my
eldest son to-day. He has been robbing me lately of large sums, and when
I rebuked him he had the audacity to reply that my duty to the Throne
would make my suicide a fitting return for the benefits which I have
received at its hands.
Li Ping-heng has gone to the front to rally the troops and check the
foreigners’ advance. He has impeached Jung Lu but the Old Buddha has
suppressed the Memorial. The Emperor thanked Jung Lu for his services,
and the Commander-in-Chief replied that he of all the servants of the
Throne never expected to receive praise from His Majesty, considering the
events of the past two years.[93]
_11th Day of the 7th Moon_ (5th August).—The Old Buddha has commanded
Jung Lu to arrange for escorting the foreigners to Tientsin, so that the
advance of the Allies may be stopped. In this connection, I hear that
not many days ago, ⸺ persuaded Ch’i Hsiu to have a letter sent to the
Foreign Ministers, inviting them to come, without escort of troops, to
an interview with the Tsung Li Yamên, his idea being to have them all
massacred on the way. Ch’i Hsiu thought the suggestion excellent, but,
although several letters have been sent proposing it, the Ministers
decline to leave the Legations. Meanwhile, there have been several fresh
attacks on the Legations during the past few days.
A foreign devil, half naked, was found yesterday in Hatamen Street.
He kowtowed to everyone he met, high class or low, imploring even the
rag-pickers to spare his life and give him a few cash. “We shall all be
massacred soon,” he said, “but I have done no wrong.” One of Jung Lu’s
sergeants seized him and took him to the Commander-in-Chief’s residence.
Instead of decapitating him, Jung Lu sent him back. This shows, however,
the desperate straits to which the foreigners are reduced.
_15th Day of the 7th Moon_ (9th August).—Bad news from the South. Yü
Lu’s forces have been defeated and the foreigners are approaching nearer
every day. The Old Buddha is meditating flight to Jehol, but Jung Lu
strongly urges her to remain, even if the Allies should enter the City.
Duke Lan scoffs at the idea of their being able to do so. One comfort
is that, if they do come, they will not loot or kill. I remember well
how good their discipline was forty years ago. I never stirred out of my
house and not one of the barbarians ever came near it. We had a little
difficulty about getting victuals, but the foreigners hardly came into
the city, and did us no harm.
_16th Day of the 7th Moon_ (10th August).—My old colleague, Li Shan,
whose house adjoins the French Cathedral, has been accused of making a
subterranean passage and thus assisting the foreigners with supplies. He
has been handed over to the Board of Punishments by Prince Tuan, without
the knowledge of the Empress Dowager, together with Hsü Yung-yi and Lien
Yuan. Prince Tuan has long had a grudge against Hsü for having expressed
disapproval of the selection of the Heir Apparent. As to Lien, they say
that his arrest is due to ⸺, and his offence is that he was on terms of
intimacy with Yüan Ch’ang. All three prisoners were decapitated this
morning. Hsü Yung-yi was older than I am (seventy-nine) and his death is
a lamentable business indeed. But he went to his death calmly and without
complaint when he learned that the Empress Dowager knew nothing of the
matter and that it was Prince Tuan’s doing alone. “The power of the
usurper,” said he, “is short-lived. As for me, I am glad to die before
the foreigners take Peking.” The Old Buddha will be very wrath when she
hears that two Manchus have thus been put to death. Li Shan and Jung Lu
were old friends.
A certain General Liu, from Shansi, assured the Empress this morning that
he would undertake to demolish the Legations in three days, and this
would so alarm the allies that their advance would certainly be stopped.
A furious bombardment has just begun.
The Boxers have proved themselves utterly useless. I always said they
never would do anything.
_18th Day of the 7th Moon_ (_12th August_).—The foreigners are getting
nearer and nearer. Yü Lu shot himself with a revolver on the 12th at
Ts’ai Ts’un. He had taken refuge in a coffin shop, of all ill-omened
places! His troops had been utterly routed thrice, at Pei Tsang, Yang
Ts’un and at Ts’ai Ts’un. Li Ping-heng reached Ho-hsi wu on the 14th,
but in spite of all his efforts to rally our forces, the two divisional
leaders, Chang Ch’un-fa and Ch’en Tsê-lin, refused to fight. Li Ping-heng
therefore took poison. Jung Lu went to-day to break the news to the Old
Buddha: sovereign and Minister wept together at the disasters which
these Princes and rebels have brought upon our glorious Empire. Jung
Lu refrained from any attempt at self-justification; he is a wise man.
The Old Buddha said she would commit suicide and make the Emperor do
the same, rather than leave her capital. Jung Lu besought her to take
his advice, which was to remain in Peking and to issue Decrees ordering
the decapitation of Prince Tuan and his followers, thus proving her
innocence to the world. But she seems to cling still to a hope that the
supernatural powers of the Boxers may save Peking, and so the furious
bombardment of the Legations continues.
Eight audiences have been given to-day to Jung Lu and five to Prince
Tuan. All the other members of the Grand Council sat with folded hands,
suggesting nothing.
_20th Day_ (_14th August_), 5 P.M.—Tungchou has fallen and now the
foreigners have begun to bombard the city. The Grand Council has been
summoned to five meetings to-day in the Palace of Peaceful Longevity:
Her Majesty is reported to be starting for Kalgan. At the hour of the
Monkey (4 P.M.) Duke Lan burst into the Palace, unannounced, and shouted,
“Old Buddha, the foreign devils have come!” Close upon his footsteps
came Kang Yi, who reported that a large force of turbaned soldiery were
encamped in the enclosure of the Temple of Heaven. “Perhaps they are our
Mahommedan braves from Kansuh,” said Her Majesty, “come to demolish the
Legations?” “No,” replied Kang Yi, “they are foreign devils. Your Majesty
must escape at once, or they will murder you.”
_Later, midnight._—There has just been an Audience given to the Grand
Council in the Palace, at which Kang Yi, Chao Shu-ch’iao and Wang
Wen-shao were present. “Where are the others?” said the Old Buddha.
“Gone, I suppose, everyone to his own home, leaving us here, Mother and
Son,[94] to look after ourselves as best we may. At all events, you three
must now accompany me on my journey.” Turning to Wang Wen-shao, she
added:—“You are too old, and I could not bear the thought of exposing
you to such hardships. Make such speed as you can and join me later.”
Then to the other two she said, “You two are good riders. It will be your
duty never to lose sight of me for an instant.” Wang Wen-shao replied, “I
will hasten after Your Majesty to the best of my ability.” The Emperor,
who seemed surprisingly alert and vigorous, here joined in, “Yes, by
all means, follow as quickly as you can.” This ended the audience, but
the actual hour of Her Majesty’s departure remains uncertain. Jung Lu’s
attendance was impossible because he was busy trying to rally our forces.
_21st Day_ (_15th August_).—Wen Lien tells me that the Old Buddha arose
this morning at the Hour of the Tiger (3 A.M.) after only an hour’s rest,
and dressed herself hurriedly in the common blue cloth garments of a
peasant woman, which she had ordered to be prepared. For the first time
in her life, her hair was done up in the Chinese fashion. “Who could ever
have believed that it would come to this?” she said. Three common carts
were brought into the Palace; their drivers wore no official hats.
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A FRAGMENT OF THE DIARY.]
All the Concubines were summoned to appear before Her Majesty at 3.30
A.M.; she had previously issued a decree that none of them would
accompany her for the present. The Pearl Concubine, who has always been
insubordinate to the Old Buddha, came with the rest and actually dared
to suggest that the Emperor should remain in Peking. The Empress was in
no mood for argument. Without a moment’s hesitation, she shouted to the
eunuchs on duty, “Throw this wretched minion down the well!” At this the
Emperor, who was greatly grieved, fell on his knees in supplication, but
the Empress angrily bade him desist, saying that this was no time for
bandying words. “Let her die at once,” she said, “as a warning to all
undutiful children, and to those ‘hsiao’ birds[95] who, when fledged,
peck out their own mother’s eyes.” So the eunuchs Li and Sung took the
Pearl Concubine and cast her down the large well which is just outside
the Ning Shou Palace.
Then to the Emperor, who stood trembling with grief and wrath, she
said: “Get into your cart and hang up the screen, so that you be not
recognised” (he was wearing a long gown of black gauze and black cloth
trousers). Swiftly then the Old Buddha gave her orders. “P’u Lun, you
will ride on the shaft of the Emperor’s cart and look after him. I shall
travel in the other cart, and you, P’u Chün (the Heir Apparent) will ride
on the shaft. Li Lien-ying, I know you are a poor rider, but you must
shift as best you can to keep up with us.” At this critical moment it
seemed as if the Old Buddha alone retained her presence of mind. “Drive
your hardest,” she said to the carters, “and if any foreign devil should
stop you, say nothing. I will speak to them and explain that we are but
poor country folk, fleeing to our homes. Go first to the Summer Palace.”
Thereupon the carts started, passing out through the northern gate of
the Palace (The Gate of Military Prowess) while all the members of the
Household and the Imperial Concubines prostrated themselves, wishing
their Majesties a long life. Only the three Grand Councillors followed
on horseback, a rendezvous having been arranged for other officials
at the Summer Palace. My neighbour Wen Lien, the Comptroller of the
Household, followed their Majesties at a distance, to see them safely out
of the city. They left by the “Te-sheng-men,” or Gate of Victory, on the
north-west side of the city, where for a time their carts were blocked in
the dense mass of refugees passing out that way.
4 P.M.—The Sacred Chariot of Her Majesty reached the Summer Palace at
about 8 A.M. and Their Majesties remained there an hour. Meanwhile, at 6
A.M., Prince Ch’ing, just before starting for the Summer Palace, sent a
flag of truce to the Japanese Pigmies who were bombarding the city close
to the “Chi Hua” Gate on the east of the city. The gate was thrown open
and the troops swarmed in.
My son En Ming was on duty at the Summer Palace with a few of his men,
when the Imperial party arrived, all bedraggled and dust-begrimed. The
soldiers at the Palace gate could not believe that this was really their
Imperial mistress until the Old Buddha angrily asked whether they failed
to recognise her. The carts were driven in through the side entrance, and
tea was served. Her Majesty gave orders that all curios, valuables, and
ornaments were to be packed at once and sent off to Jehol; at the same
time she despatched one of the eunuchs to Peking to tell the Empress[96]
to bury quickly every scrap of treasure in the Forbidden City, hiding it
in the courtyard of the Ning Shou Palace.
The Princes Tuan, Ching, Na, and Su joined Their Majesties at the Summer
Palace; a few Dukes were there also, as well as Wu Shu-mei and Pu Hsing
of the higher officials. About a dozen Secretaries from the different
Boards, and three Clerks to the Grand Council, accompanied the Court
from this point. General Ma Yu-k’un, with a force of 1,000 men escorted
Their Majesties to Kalgan, and there were, in addition, several hundreds
of Prince Tuan’s “Heavenly Tiger” Bannermen, fresh from their fruitless
attacks on the Legations. Jung Lu is still endeavouring to rally his
troops.
I have just heard of the death of my old friend, Hsü T’ung, the Imperial
Tutor and Grand Secretary. He has hanged himself in his house and
eighteen of his womenfolk have followed his example. He was a true
patriot and a fine scholar. Alas, alas! From all sides I hear the
same piteous story; the proudest of the Manchus have come to the same
miserable end. The betrothed of Prince Ch’un, whom he was to have married
next month, has committed suicide, with all her family. It is indeed
pitiful.[97]
Thus, for the second time in her life, the Old Buddha has had to flee
from her Sacred City, like the Son of Heaven in the Chou Dynasty, who
“fled with dust-covered head.” The failure of the southern provinces
to join in the enterprise has ruined us. Prince Tuan was much to blame
in being anti-Chinese. As Confucius said, “By the lack of broad-minded
tolerance in small matters, a great design has been frustrated.” After
all, Jung Lu was right—the Boxers’ so-called magic was nothing but
child’s talk. They were in reality no stronger than autumn thistledown.
Alas, the bright flower of spring does not bloom twice!
[Illustration: DAUGHTERS OF A HIGH MANCHU OFFICIAL OF THE COURT.]
My wife and the other women, stupidly obstinate like all females, intend
to take opium. I cannot prevent them from doing so, but, for myself, I
have no intention of doing anything so foolish. Already the foreign
brigands are looting in other quarters of the city, but they will never
find my hidden treasure, and I shall just remain here, old and feeble as
I am. My son, En Ch’u, has disappeared since yesterday, and nearly all my
servants have fled. There is no one to prepare my evening meal.
(_Here the Diary ends. The old man was murdered by his eldest son that
same evening; all his women folk had previously taken poison and died._)
_Vermilion Decree of H.M. Kuang Hsü, 24th day, 12th Moon of
25th year (January, 1900), making Prince Tuan’s son Heir
Apparent._
“In days of our tender infancy we succeeded by adoption to the
Great Inheritance, and were favoured by the Empress Dowager,
who graciously ‘suspended the curtain’ and administered the
Government as Regent, earnestly labouring the while at our
education in all matters. Since we assumed the reins of
government, the nation has passed through severe crises, and
our sole desire has been to govern the Empire wisely in order
to requite the material benevolence of Her Majesty as well as
to fulfil the arduous task imposed on us by His late Majesty.
“But since last year our constitution has been sore-stricken
with illness, and we have undergone much anxiety lest the
business of the State should suffer in consequence. Reflecting
on the duty we owe to our sacred ancestors and to the Empire,
we have therefore besought Her Majesty to administer the
Government during the past year. Our sickness has so far
shown no signs of improvement, and it has prevented us from
performing all the important sacrifices at the ancestral
shrines and at the altars of the gods of the soil.
“And now at this acute crisis, the spectacle of Her Majesty,
labouring without cease in the profound seclusion of her
Palace, without relaxation or thought of rest, has filled us
with dismay. We can neither sleep nor eat in the anxiety of our
thoughts. Reflecting on the arduous labours of our ancestors
from whom this great Heritage has descended to us, we are
overwhelmed by our unfitness for this task of government. We
bear in mind (and the fact is well known to all our subjects)
that when first we succeeded by adoption to the Throne, we
were honoured with a Decree from the Empress Dowager to the
effect that so soon as we should have begotten an heir, he
should become the adopted son of His Majesty T’ung-Chih. But
our protracted sickness renders it impossible for us to hope
for a son, so that His late Majesty remains without heir. This
question of the succession is of transcendent importance, and
our grief, as we ponder the situation, fills us with feelings
of the deepest self-abasement, and renders illusive all hope of
our recovery from this sickness.
“We have accordingly prostrated ourselves in supplication
before our Sacred Mother, begging that she may be pleased to
select some worthy person from among the Princes of the Blood
as heir to His Majesty T’ung-Chih, in order that the Great
Inheritance may duly revert to him. As the result of our
repeated entreaties Her Majesty has graciously consented, and
has appointed P’u Chün, son of Prince Tuan, as heir by adoption
to His late Majesty. Our gratitude at this is unbounded, and
obediently we obey her behests, hereby appointing P’u Chün to
be Heir Apparent and successor to the Throne. Let this Decree
be made known throughout the Empire.”
Seldom has history seen so tragically pathetic a document. It was not
only a confession of his own illegality and an abdication, but his
death-warrant, clear writ for all men to read. And the poor victim must
perforce thank his executioner and praise the “maternal benevolence” of
the woman whose uncontrollable love of power had wrecked his life from
the cradle.
_Memorial from the Censorate at Peking to the Throne at Hsi-an,
describing the arrest of En Hai, the murderer of the German
Minister, Baron von Ketteler._[98]
This Memorial affords a striking illustration of the sympathy which
animated, and still animates, many of those nearest to the Throne
in regard to the Boxers and their anti-foreign crusade, and their
appreciation of the real sentiments of the Empress Dowager, even in
defeat. It also throws light on the Chinese official’s idea of heroism in
a soldier.
“A spy in Japanese employ, engaged in searching for looted
articles in the pawnshops of the district in Japanese military
occupation, found among the unredeemed pledges in one shop a
watch bearing Baron von Ketteler’s monogram. The pawnbroker
said that it had been pledged by a bannerman named En Hai, who
lived at a carters’ inn of the Tartar city. This spy was a
man named Te Lu, a writer attached to the Manchu Field Force,
of the 8th squad of the ‘Ting’ Company. He went at once and
informed the Japanese, who promptly sent a picquet to the
inn mentioned. Two or three men were standing about in the
courtyard, and the soldiers asked one of them whether En Hai
was there. ‘I’m the man,’ said he, whereupon they took him
prisoner. Under examination, En was perfectly calm and showed
no sort of emotion. The presiding Magistrate enquired ‘Was
it you who slew the German Minister?’ He replied ‘I received
orders from my Sergeant to kill every foreigner that came up
the street. I am a soldier, and I only know it is my duty to
obey orders. On that day I was with my men, some thirty of
them, in the street, when a foreigner came along in a sedan
chair. At once I took up my stand a little to the side of
the street, and, taking careful aim, fired into the chair.
Thereupon the bearers fled: we went up to the chair, dragged
the foreigner out, and saw that he was dead. I felt a watch in
his breast pocket and took it as my lawful share; my comrades
appropriated a revolver, some rings and other articles. I never
thought that this watch would lead to my detection, but I am
glad to die for having killed one of the enemies of my country.
Please behead me at once.’
“The interpreter asked him whether he was drunk at the time.
He laughed and said, ‘Wine’s a fine thing, and I can put away
four or five catties at a time, but that day I had not touched
a drop. Do you suppose I would try to screen myself on the
score of being in liquor?’ This En Hai appears to have been
an honest fellow; his words were brave and dignified, so that
the bystanders all realised that China is not without heroes
in the ranks of her army. On the following day he was handed
over to the Germans, and beheaded on the scene of his exploit.
We, your Memorialists, feel that Your Majesties should be made
acquainted with his meritorious behaviour, and we therefore
report the above facts. We are of opinion that his name should
not be permitted to fall into oblivion, and we trust that Your
Majesties may be pleased to confer upon him honours as in the
case of one who has fallen in battle with his face to the foe.”
XVIII
IN MEMORY OF TWO BRAVE MEN
The Memorial of the Censors given in the last chapter, recording the
arrest and execution of the Manchu soldier who shot the German Minister
defenceless in his chair, took occasion to congratulate the Empress
and the nation on possessing such brave defenders; and to do the man
justice, he met his end with a fine courage. But with fuller knowledge
and a clearer insight, the scholars of the Empire might well put forward
claims to real heroism, moral courage of the rarest kind, in the case
of Yüan Ch’ang and Hsü Ching-ch’eng, the two Ministers who, as we have
shown, so nobly laid down their lives for what they knew to be their
country’s highest good. So long as China can breed men like these, so
long as the Confucian system contains moral force sufficient to produce
Stoic scholars of this type, the nation has no cause to despair of its
future. We make no apology for insisting on the claims of these two men
to our grateful admiration, or for reproducing their last Memorials, in
which they warned the Old Buddha of her folly, and, by denouncing the
Boxers, braved all the forces of anarchy and savagery which surged about
the Dragon Throne. Already their good name stands high in the esteem of
their countrymen. _Et prevalebit_: their courage and unselfish patriotism
have been recognised by their canonisation in the Pantheon of China’s
worthies, under an Edict of the present Regent.
Shortly after their execution the following circular letter _pour faire
part_ was addressed by the sons of Yüan Ch’ang to the relatives and
friends of the family:—
_Notice sent by the Yüan family to their relatives regarding
the death of Yüan Ch’ang, September, 1900._
After the usual conventional formulæ of grief and self-abasement, this
circular letter proceeds as follows:—
“We realise that it was because of his outspoken courage in
resisting the evil tendencies of the times that our parent met
his untimely death, and we now submit the following report of
the circumstances for the information of our relatives and
friends.
“When, in the 5th Moon of this year, the Boxer madness
commenced, our late father, in his capacity as a Minister
of the Foreign Office, felt extremely anxious in regard to
the situation, and his anxiety was shared by his colleague,
Hsü Ching-ch’eng. On three occasions when the Princes and
Ministers were received in audience, my father expressed his
opinion to the Throne that the Boxers were utterly unreliable.
‘I have been in person,’ he said, ‘to Legation Street, and
have seen the corpses of Boxers lying on all sides. They had
most certainly been shot, proving that their unholy rites
availed them nothing. They should be exterminated and not used
as Government forces.’ On hearing this advice, the Emperor,
turning to Hsü Ching-ch’eng, enquired whether China is strong
enough to resist the foreigners or not, and other questions
bearing on the position of the Foreign Powers abroad. Hsü
replied without hesitation that China was far too weak to think
of fighting the whole world. His Majesty was so much impressed
by what he had heard that he caught hold of Hsü by the sleeve
and seemed much distressed. Hsü sorrowfully left the presence,
and proceeded with our father to draft the first of their joint
Memorials.
“Later on, when the bombardment of the Legations was in full
swing, our father observed to Hsü, ‘This slaughtering of Envoys
is a grave breach of all international law. If the Legations
are destroyed and the Powers then send an expedition to avenge
them, what will become of our country? We must oppose this
folly, you and I, even at the risk of our lives.’ So they put
in their second Memorial, which never appeared in the Gazette,
but which so frightened the Boxer princes and Ministers that
they slackened for a while in their attacks on the foreigners.
The preservation of the Legations on this occasion was really
due to this Memorial, and from this moment the enemies of Hsü
and our father became more than ever bent on revenge.
“In the last few days of the 6th Moon (July 15th to 25th) the
foreign armies were massing for their march on Peking, and
our father said to Hsü, ‘We are only waiting for death. Why
should we delay it any longer?’ So they handed in their third
Memorial. In this document they declared that the situation
was becoming desperate, that even the Princes of the Blood and
the Ministers of the Grand Council had come to applaud these
Boxers, and to assist in deceiving their Majesties. There was
only one way left to avoid dire peril and hold back the foreign
armies, and that was to put an end to these Boxers, and to do
this it was necessary to begin by beheading their leaders among
the Princes and Ministers. Having sent in this Memorial, our
father said to our mother ‘Things have now come to such a pass
that, whether I speak out or keep silence, my death is certain.
Rather than be murdered by these treacherous Ministers, I
prefer to die at the hands of the public executioner. If only
by my death I can convince the Throne of the peril of the
situation, I shall die gladly.’
“We all crowded round our father and wept. Calmly he spake to
us, saying, ‘I am giving my life for the State. What other
thought have I now? You must decide for yourselves whether you
will remain in Peking or return to our home in the south.’ He
then gave us a solemn admonition in regard to our duties of
loyalty and patriotism.
“On the second day of the 7th Moon, (July 27th) he was arrested
and taken to the Board of Punishments. Next day, at 1 P.M.,
‘his duty was finally consummated.’ The execution ground was
crowded with a mob of Boxers. Angrily some of them asked
him why he had borne a grudge, and spoken evil, against the
‘Patriotic Harmony Militia.’ Our father mockingly answered
‘A statesman speaks out in obedience to a sense of duty. How
should such as you understand?’
“We were informed by the gaolers that our father and Hsü had
chatted quietly and contentedly in prison. They had asked for
paper and ink, and had written over twenty sheets, but this
document was found by the Boxers and burned. Was it, we wonder,
a valedictory Memorial to the Throne, or a last mandate to
their families? We cannot say, and we shall never know. Alas,
alas, that we, undutiful sons as we are, should have to bear
this crowning sorrow! We have failed in our duty both as sons
and as men. Our mother still survives, and our father’s burial
remains to be attended to, so that we feel bound to go on,
drawing the breath of pain, so as to perform our duty to our
lamented sire. On the 8th of this Moon we propose to carry
his remains to a place of temporary sepulture in the Garden
of ‘Wide Friendship’ at Hangchow, and shall escort our mother
to her home. We shall set up the tablet of our father in a
building adjoining his temporary grave, and there weep and
lament.”
If to meet an undeserved doom with high courage is heroism, then these
men were indeed heroes. In reading their Memorials—and especially the
last of them—one is inevitably and forcibly reminded of the best examples
in Greek and Roman history. In their high-minded philosophy, their
instinctive morality and calm contemplation of death, there breathes
the spirit of Socrates, Seneca and Pliny, the spirit which has given
European civilisation its classical models of noble fortitude and many
of its finest inspirations, the spirit which, shorn of its quality of
individualism, has been the foundation of Japan’s greatness. In the last
of these three Memorials, their swan-song, there rings the true heroic
note, clear-seeing, earnest and fearless. The first, though forwarded in
the name of Yüan alone, was drafted conjointly with Hsü Ching-ch’eng.
Hsü, well-known in diplomatic circles by his having been Minister in St.
Petersburg and Berlin, had not the same high reputation for personal
integrity and disinterested patriotism as his friend, but whatever his
former failings, he made full amends by the unflinching nobility of
purpose that led to his death.
_Yüan Ch’ang’s First Memorial against the Boxers, Dated 20th June, 1900._
“Ever since the 16th day of the Moon (June 12th), when the
Boxers first burst into Peking, your Majesties have been
giving audience daily to all the Princes and Ministers of
State. The weight of the nation’s sorrow has afflicted your
Sacred Persons, and you have sought the advice of us, your
humble servants, in your anxious desire that a policy may be
devised whereby peace should be restored to the shrines of your
ancestors and to the Chinese people. But we have failed so far
to avert calamity, and thus to bring comfort to our sorrowing
Sovereigns; grievous indeed are our shortcomings, which fill us
with shame and dismay.
“Humbly I recall to your Majesties’ memories a Decree which was
issued in the 7th Moon of the 13th year of Chia-Ch’ing. Therein
it is recorded that, in the provinces of Shantung and Honan, a
dangerous conspiracy had been organised by evil-doers under the
name of the ‘Eight Diagram’ Society. These latter day Boxers
are, in fact, merely the descendants of the ‘White Lily’ sect,
and your Majesties have already decreed their extermination. It
was only last year that the District Magistrate of Wu Chiao, in
Shantung, drew up a memorandum giving a very full account of
this sect, and two months ago the Governor of Shantung (Yüan
Shih-k’ai), replying to your Majesties’ enquiries, reported
that these Boxers were in no way deserving of Imperial favour,
and could never be enrolled as Government troops. No statement
could be more explicit. Furthermore, the ex-Governor, Yü Hsien,
reporting in connection with the case of a leader of this sect
named Chu Hung-teng, or ‘Chu of the Red Lamp,’ stated that this
impostor claimed to be a descendant of the Ming Dynasty; he
had so worked upon the ignorant people that the whole district
was in a state of unrest, and these treasonable proceedings
increased and spread until the Imperial forces arrested and
executed the ringleaders. Their purely mythical claims to
invulnerability were clearly disproved by the fact that their
execution presented no difficulties.
“When seeking information on this subject last year, I was
informed by General Ch’eng Wen-ping that five years ago (in
1895) he was stationed at a post on the Chihli frontier,
infested by robbers, who there went by the name of the ‘Golden
Bell’ Society, and were brothers of the ‘Golden Lamp.’ On
one occasion some fifty of these men desired to join General
Ch’eng’s forces, but upon his putting their alleged powers to
the test, by firing bullets at them and stabbing them with
swords, blood flowed in the most natural manner, so that these
magic workers died. I mention the fact to show the absurdity of
this superstition; it proves, beyond doubt, that the organisers
of these Societies are dangerous and treasonable rogues,
harbouring evil designs against the Dynasty, especially when
they claim to be descendants of the Mings. They have, however,
collected an enormous following, and should be dealt with as
rebels, which they undoubtedly are.
“Last year, in the 11th Moon, 13th day, your Majesties granted
me audience, and I reported the above facts, adding that the
alleged anti-Christian propaganda of these Boxers was merely
a pretext, and that their treasonable aims justified their
immediate extermination. Subsequently Yüan Shih-k’ai, then
newly appointed Governor, did his duty in suppressing the
movement, so that several Boxer societies were broken up or
destroyed. Once more peace reigned, so that the gentry and
_literati_ of the province, who for a time had believed in the
Boxers and had accused the Governor of ruthless methods, were
forced to admit that he had acted rightly and that they had
been misled. Who could have supposed that the suppression of
the movement in Shantung would be followed by its spreading
and increasing in Chihli? The Viceroy (Yü Lu) must undoubtedly
be blamed for this; he has allowed the canker to grow without
check, playing the part of an indifferent spectator. Latterly,
after these Boxers had murdered the Magistrate of Lai Shui,
the Viceroy appeared to realise, for the first time, that
their professed campaign against the Christians was merely a
cloak for rebellion. He telegraphed, therefore, recommending
their suppression. But there were differences of opinion at
Court, and nothing was decided. Other districts became speedily
affected with the evil, and for no other reason than that the
rebels of Lai Shui had escaped without punishment. They grew
bolder and bolder, until finally they tore up the railway
lines and destroyed the telegraphs throughout the province,
although both are Government property, upon which vast sums of
the public money have been spent. Deplorable, indeed, that one
morning’s work of rebels should witness the loss of millions of
taels! They have also destroyed many Christian churches, for
which the State will have to pay heavily hereafter.
“I humbly submit that this fierce outbreak of the Boxers
against Christians is a matter of deadly peril to the Empire.
By our laws, Magistrates are expected to administer justice
without fear or favour; there is no distinction to be made
between Christians and non-Christians, and it should certainly
not be permitted that evil-doers should pursue their ends on
any plea of religious zeal. And now, within the last few days,
these rebels have even dared to invade our Capital, and their
armed mob profanes the very chariot wheels of the Throne. Arson
and murder are their work; they have burned the churches and
attacked the Legations. Your Majesties’ Palace is shaking to
its foundations, as by an earthquake. For such deeds there is
no penalty but death; clemency in such a case were folly.
“On the 20th day of this Moon they set fire to more than a
thousand shops outside the Main Gate, so that the wealthiest
quarter of the city is now a hideous desert. Nine out of
every ten inhabitants are fleeing from the city, and hardly
a shop remains open. There is no money forthcoming from the
provinces wherewith to pay our troops. Words cannot describe
the utter desolation prevailing on all sides. In allowing these
rioters to stalk through the land, breathing slaughter and
plunder, we were making ourselves a byeword and an object of
derision throughout the civilised world. The ministers of the
foreign Powers, alarmed by the Boxers’ wild threats, have been
compelled, by the necessities of their situation, to bring up
Legation guards, but these only amount to four hundred and ten
men altogether, and the object of their coming is clearly not
offensive, but defensive only.
“On the 16th day (June 12th) Ch’i Hsiu and other members of
the Grand Council were instructed by your Majesty (the Empress
Dowager) to have compliments and expressions of sympathy
sent to the foreign Ministers and their wives. This act of
benevolent courtesy was gratefully recognised. They were fully
alive to the bountiful measure of protection thus extended to
them in your Majesty’s clemency; it penetrated to their very
marrow. The Ministers then informed your Majesty that their
Legation guards have been brought up solely as a precaution,
and they have no thought of interfering in the domestic
affairs of our country. They give the most solemn assurances,
invoking the sun as witness and pointing to heaven, that, so
soon as these disturbances are at an end, their troops will
immediately be withdrawn. There is no reason to suspect them
of any treachery or evil purpose. It should be our immediate
aim to rid the Tartar city of the presence of these rebels, in
order not only to reassure the minds of our own people, but to
relieve the anxiety of the foreigners. If we do this, there
will be no further talk of the foreign Powers sending more
troops; if we crush the rebellion ourselves, there would be no
need of foreign co-operation to that end. Surely the wisdom of
this course is self-evident.” (_Here follow certain suggestions
for Police and military measures._)
“If it be objected that the destruction of so vast a number
of Boxers is impracticable, I venture to reply that the
present situation has been entirely brought about by a few
ringleaders, and that the majority of the Boxers are simply
ignorant peasantry. If, on the other hand, it be maintained
that these rebels are in possession of magical secrets which
confer upon them supernatural powers, I would venture to remind
your Majesties of Chang Chio’s ‘Yellow Turban’ sect, which
flourished towards the end of the Han Dynasty, and of the
historic case of P’an Kuang, the ‘head-breaker’ of the Yuan
Dynasty; both of these men, though possessing supernatural
powers, nevertheless lost their heads. One of the principal
reasons for the alleged invulnerability of these Boxer bandits
is that in the day time they lie low; it is at night that they
display activity, and call upon their deities to succour them.
All the magical arts which they profess—their incantations,
charms, invocations of spirits, table-turning, and the ‘five
demon’ trick—are merely cheap devices of useless sorcery. Let
them encounter any lethal weapon, let them be struck by cannon
or rifle bullet, and they fall dead upon the spot. Can it be
seriously maintained that they are really safe from bullets
when it is notorious that a large number of them were shot by
the foreign troops on the 17th day of this Moon (June 13th),
when they began their attack upon the Legations? Only yesterday
over forty Boxers were shot dead in Shuai Fu lane,[99] and
their altar was destroyed.
“The population of Peking numbers close upon a million, and,
with the exception of these wretched mobs or Boxers, they
are all loyal to the Throne and law-abiding. The capture and
execution of these Boxers would vindicate the majesty of the
law, and tranquillise the minds of the people; the courage of
the rebels would wane as that of the respectable community
increased. Once rid Peking of the Boxers, and the Legations
will gratefully recognise the efficacy of your Majesty’s divine
protection, and their feelings towards you will be as towards a
second Creator. The reinforcements of the foreign guards could
then reasonably be stopped, or withdrawn, at an early date,
there being clearly no further necessity for their presence.
“In conclusion it is written in the Book of Ceremonies of
the Chou Dynasty ‘that the existence of anarchy in a State
necessitates the adoption of the death penalty’; also in the
Canon of History it is written ‘that there is a time when
the infliction of capital punishment becomes a sacred duty.’
It would therefore appear to be clearly proved that these
Boxers should properly be exterminated, and that any further
continuance of procrastination or of evasive measures, such
as their enrolment in the army, will be utterly unavailing.
The foreign Powers are strong, and their indignation has
reached extreme limits. Should they now unite in measures of
retaliation, indescribable disasters await us. Instead of
allowing the foreigners to suppress the Boxers, which would
mean much fighting and bloodshed in and around Peking, the
slaughter of many innocent persons (‘jade and common stone
perishing together in one catastrophe’), let us rather suppress
the movement ourselves, and thus close the mouths of our
detractors and those who criticise our Empire. Thus only will
the ancestral shrines escape desecration, and the people enjoy
untold benefits.
“The Grand Secretary, Jung Lu, is patriotic and loyal. If your
Majesties will but grant him full powers, success will speedily
be attained. Diplomatic difficulties can easily be overcome by
careful attention to the exigencies of the moment. Urging upon
your Majesties the essential fact that in undivided control of
authority lies our only safeguard against dire catastrophe,
I now beg humbly to submit this my Memorial, laying bare my
innermost feelings, and ask that your Majesties’ divine wisdom
may consider and decide the matter.”
_The Second Memorial of Yüan Ch’ang and Hsü Ching-ch’eng, July 8th._
“Ever since, on the 24th day of last Moon, the German Minister
von Ketteler was killed by the Boxers, the latter have been
besieging the Legations, and the Kansuh troops under Tung
Fu-hsiang have been their willing accomplices in perpetrating
every kind of evil. Countless is the number of our people,
residing near the Legations, who have suffered death at their
hands. Practically every house in the eastern quarter of the
city, whether public or private property, has been mercilessly
plundered.
“The Boxers originally proclaimed that their mission was to
pay off old scores against the Christians; they then proceeded
to include the Legations in their attacks. From the Legations
they have extended their sphere of activity, directing their
operations against our officials and the common people. That
a mutinous soldiery and mobs of rebels should be permitted to
run riot over our Capital, and work their evil will upon the
people, is indeed a circumstance unparalleled in our history.
“When the siege began it was their boast that, within
twenty-four hours, not a single Legation would remain standing,
nay more, Tung Fu-hsiang has repeatedly boasted that they are
already nothing more than a heap of ashes. As a matter of fact,
however, nearly a month has passed, and whereas scarcely a
foreign soldier has been killed, the entire Legation quarter
lies strewn with the corpses of these Boxers. Where now the
proud boast, with which they deluded simple folk, that their
magic arts rendered them immune from bullet wounds? If, after a
month’s effort, fifty thousand bandits are unable to capture a
few Legations garrisoned by less than four hundred foreigners,
we can form a fairly accurate estimate of their value and
prowess. Who would ever dream of using the services of such
heroes to check foreign aggression?
“It may perhaps be suggested that genuine Boxers would show
very different results in their country’s service, and that
those who have been guilty of murder and arson are not really
Boxers at all, but outsiders and charlatans, having no
legitimate connection with the cult. But we submit that if the
society has been so disorganised as to be divided into real and
counterfeit members, and if the latter are permitted with the
tacit consent of the former, to commit every kind of atrocity,
it seems clear that the genuine Boxer himself is a thoroughly
disreputable person.
“Moreover, the Throne has expressly forbidden them to take
up arms and to continue their devastation with fire and
sword; they have been ordered to disband and leave Peking.
Nevertheless, they ignore these orders and continue in their
wicked ways. Whether genuine or counterfeit, these Boxers
vie with one another in flouting the law of the land. Their
incorrigible wickedness renders them one and all deserving
of death; the leniency shown them has but increased their
arrogance, and the number of these evil-doers has grown by
reason of the tolerance extended to them.
“In a previous Memorial we urged that the Grand Secretary Jung
Lu should be given full powers, with instructions to adopt such
severe measures as might be necessary for the suppression
of this movement, but your Majesties declined to follow our
advice. To-day the danger has grown infinitely greater, and we
feel it therefore our bounden duty to lay before your Sacred
intelligence our crude and humble views even though, in doing
so, we incur the risk of death for our temerity. We bear in
mind the words of the Spring and Autumn classic, ‘in time of
war the persons of Envoys are inviolate.’ By the international
law of European countries, foreign Ambassadors are regarded
as semi-sacred personages: whosoever treats them wrongfully
commits a wrong against the State which they represent. If
these Boxer bandits be permitted to destroy the Legations and
to slay the foreign Ministers, the Powers will undoubtedly
consider this a monstrous outrage, and will unitedly make any
sacrifice in order to avenge it. The foreign troops at present
in Peking are but few in number, but there are great armies to
take their place. That China should attempt to fight the entire
world means, in our humble opinion, not the defeat only, but
the complete annihilation of the Empire. For the past sixty
years China has made treaties with Foreign Powers, and has
permitted European missionaries to come amongst us for the
propagation of their religion. It is true that their converts
take advantage of their position to act unjustly to their
fellow-countrymen and to insult them. It is true that they
frequently rely upon missionary protection to secure their evil
ends, but it is also true that our local officials often treat
these matters with apathy and injustice. The non-Christians are
therefore filled with resentment and indignation against the
Christians, a result very largely due to lack of ability and
energy on the part of the Government officials. This is the
case at present; we are but reaping the harvest of past faults.
Your Memorialists do not venture to suggest that the cause
of this ill-feeling against the Christians lies chiefly with
the common people, but it cannot be denied that China loses
dignity in the eyes of the world while our Government remains
indifferent to these continual feuds between Christians and
non-Christians. It is inadmissible that the local officials
should excuse themselves for inaction on the plea that they
cannot maintain order. For example, if two neighbours in a
village are on bad terms, and a clan fight takes place between
their respective families and followers, and if, as the result,
property is destroyed and lives lost in the fray, reparation
will be claimed by the aggrieved party, not from the actual
fighters, but from the heads of the other clan, with whom rests
the responsibility for law and order. In matters of State the
same principle holds good.
“The religions of Europe may be divided into Catholic and
Protestant; the priests of the former sect are known as
“spiritual fathers” while the latter are called “pastors.”
These Boxer brigands class all foreign religions alike, making
no difference between sect and sect; but the Russians are of
the Greek church, while the Japanese are Buddhists. Neither of
these nations has hitherto sent missions to the interior of
China, a fact which these Boxers completely ignore. To them,
the mere sight of a foreign costume, or the hearing of words in
a foreign tongue, immediately evokes their war cry of “hairy
devils,” who must be exterminated. It is clear that all right
principles of conduct render such an attitude unjust, while our
weakness as a nation renders it inexpedient; and we would ask
your Majesties to remember that China has also sent its Envoys
on foreign missions. If the Powers, enraged by the massacre of
their Envoys, should retaliate by killing ours, will it not be
said that China has dealt the fatal blow to her own Ministers
by the hand of another? Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager, has
just sent presents to the foreign Legations—fruit, vegetable,
flour and rice—in order to ‘display your beneficence to the
strangers from afar.’[100] Nevertheless these Boxer brigands,
trusting in their arrogant Commander (Tung Fu-hsiang) as a
tower of strength, continue their attacks upon the Legations.
If the foreigners come to suspect the Throne of hypocritical
displays of friendliness while secretly encouraging this
bombardment, who will hereafter believe any statement that may
be put forward as to your innocence and disapproval of all this
carnival of slaughter, however earnestly you may proclaim it to
a doubting world?
“If, on the other hand, the Legations successfully maintain
their resistance until peace is eventually restored, then the
foreign Envoys, who have received your Majesty’s bounty, will
naturally feel bound, in common gratitude, to advise their
Governments that the Boxers alone were responsible for the
siege, which no foresight could have prevented, and that your
Majesties are to be acquitted of all blame for the growth of
this movement. By a wise course of action at this juncture,
the suspicions of foreign Powers may be lulled, and a very
great advantage gained at very little trouble to ourselves. It
will thus be easy to restore harmonious relations. But if the
Legations are utterly destroyed and every foreign Minister put
to the sword, by what means can the outside world ever learn of
your Majesty’s present thoughtful generosity? It will be quite
vain to hope that, without supporting evidence, the Throne will
ever be able to persuade the foreign Powers of its innocence.
They are now pouring in troops on the plea of suppressing the
rebellion on behalf of China. There are many who believe that
this is merely an excuse for obtaining a permanent foothold
on Chinese territory; only the most credulous persons believe
in the sincerity of the professed motives of foreigners. We,
your Memorialists, have not wisdom sufficient to fathom their
real object, but we maintain that these lawless Boxer mobs
should long since have been wiped out of existence. Why should
it be necessary to wait until foreign Powers demand their
extermination, and, above all, why wait until those Powers take
in hand themselves a matter with which we should have dealt?
“Thoroughly convinced that China’s only hope of preserving her
integrity lies in the preservation of the Legations, we now ask
that a strong Decree be issued, censuring Tung Fu-hsiang and
commanding the withdrawal of his troops from Peking; he should
under no circumstances be permitted to approach the Legation
quarter any more. It should be clearly laid down that any of
these Boxers or of their followers who may continue the attack
on the Legations will at once be executed. By withdrawing
the support of the Government troops from the Boxers, the
destruction of the latter will be greatly facilitated. At the
same time we earnestly request that Jung Lu be authorised to
expel every Boxer from Peking within a given limit of time, so
as to save the State from a danger which is ‘scorching its very
eyebrows,’ and to prevent any recurrence of these troubles.
“We are aware that the clear light of Heaven is temporarily
obscured by this very plague of locusts, and that our plain
speaking may very well be our own undoing. But since, in all
humility, we realise that China is like a sick man whose every
breath may be his last, our fear in speaking weighs less
heavily with us than our sense of duty. Therefore, knowing that
we face death in so doing, we submit this our Memorial, and
humbly beg that your Majesties may honour us by perusing it.”
_Extract from the third and last of the three Memorials by Yüan Ch’ang
and Hsü Ching-Ch’eng, 23rd July, 1900._
“We, your Memorialists, now humbly desire to point out that it
is more than a month since our sacred Capital was given over to
anarchy, a state of affairs which has reacted throughout the
entire Empire. We now stand confronted by the prospect of a war
with the whole civilised world, the conclusion of which can
only be an unparalleled catastrophe.
“In the reign of Hsien-Feng the Taiping and Mahomedan rebels
devastated more than ten provinces, and the uprising was not
quelled until ten years had passed. In the reign of Chia-Ch’ing
the rebellion of the ‘White Lily’ sect laid waste three or
four provinces. It is recorded in the history of these wars
that, only after the most heroic efforts, and with the greatest
difficulty, the Imperial armies succeeded in restoring order.
But these rebellions, in comparison with the present Boxer
rising, were mere trifling ailments: the State to-day stands
threatened with mortal sickness. For on the former occasions
everyone, from the Throne downwards to the lowest of the
people, was fully aware that the Taipings were rebels; but
to-day some of the highest in the land look upon the Boxers
as patriots, so that even those who know them to be rebels
are afraid to confess the truth. Our folly is bringing down
upon us the ridicule and hatred of every foreign country.
When this movement began, these men were ignorant peasants,
unversed in military matters; they drew after them large
numbers of criminals by proclaiming as their watchword ‘Prop up
the Dynasty and slay the foreigner.’ But what is the rational
interpretation of this watchword? If we are to take it as
meaning that every native of China who treads the soil of our
country and lives on its fruits should be imbued with feelings
of deep gratitude for the benevolent and virtuous rule which
the present Dynasty has maintained for over two centuries, and
would gladly repay the bounty of the Throne by fighting for its
protection, we heartily endorse the sentiment. But if it means
that, at a great crisis in our national history, it is the mob
alone that has power sufficient to ‘prop up’ our tottering
fortunes and restore tranquillity, should we not remember that
he who can ‘prop up’ can also throw down, and that the power
which ‘props up’ the Dynasty may overthrow it to-morrow? What
is this then but treasonable language, and who so greatly
daring as to utter sentiments of this kind?
“We, your Memorialists, unworthy as we are, fully realise
that the foreigners, who make their nests in the body of our
State, constitute a real danger. But the way to deal with the
situation is to reform the administration in the first place,
and in the meanwhile to deal most cautiously with all questions
of foreign policy. We must bide our time and select a weak
opponent; by this means our strength might in due course be
displayed, and old scores paid off.
“If foreign nations had gratuitously invaded our country, we
should be the first to welcome as loyal patriots everyone who
should take up arms and rush into the fray, however feeble his
efforts. But to-day, when the Throne’s relations with foreign
States were perfectly friendly, this sudden outcry of ‘Slay the
foreigner’ is nothing but a wanton provocation of hostilities
on all our frontiers. Foolishness of this kind is calculated
to destroy our Empire like a child’s toy. Besides, when they
talk of slaying the foreigner, do they mean only the foreigners
in China, or the inhabitants of every State within the five
Continents? The slaughter of Europeans in China would by no
means prevent others taking their places. But if the meaning
of this watchword is that they propose to make a clean sweep
of every non-Chinese inhabitant on the face of the earth,
any fool can see the utter impossibility of their programme.
It seems almost incredible that Yü Hsien, Yü Lu and other
Viceroys should not be capable of realising such simple facts
as these. Yü Lu in particular has gathered around him the Boxer
chiefs, and treats them as honoured guests. Thousands of the
most notorious villains throng into his official residence,
and are freely admitted on presenting a card bearing the
title of ‘Boxer.’ These men sit by the side of the Viceroy on
his judgment-seat, bringing the authority of the Throne into
contempt, and insulting the intelligence of all educated men.
Abominable scoundrels like the Boxer chiefs, Chang Te-ch’ang
and Han Yi-li, men formerly infamous throughout their province,
and now known in Peking itself as a scourge, have actually been
recommended for official posts in a public Memorial to the
Throne! Never has there been a case of a Viceroy so flagrantly
hoodwinking his Sovereign.
“In regard to Yü Lu’s Memorials reporting his military success
at Tientsin, we have caused careful inquiry to be made from
many refugees, and they one and all deny the truth of these
reports. On the contrary they unanimously assert that many
thousands of our troops have been slain by the foreigners,
and they even go so far as to say that the capture of the
Taku Forts is entirely attributable to the fact that Yü Lu
first permitted the Boxers to attack the foreign Settlements.
Their indignation against Yü Lu may possibly lead them into
some slight exaggeration in these statements, but, in our
opinion, the Viceroy’s bombastic reports are of a piece with
Tung Fu-hsiang’s braggart lies, when he tells your Majesties
that he has destroyed the Legations and annihilated their
defenders. Tung Fu-hsiang is nothing but a Kansuh robber, who,
after surrendering to the Imperial forces and obtaining some
credit in their ranks, attained his present position by the
exceptional favours of the Throne. He should have requited
your Majesty’s bounty better than by associating himself with
treasonable rogues and behaving like a common footpad. His
present actions may very well foreshadow some dastardly design
hidden in his wolf-heart.
“Yü Lu is one of the highest officials in the Empire, and very
different from military men of the Tung Fu-hsiang type. It is
hard to explain his blear-eyed stupidity. No doubt he has been
led astray by the deceitful representations of your Majesty’s
Ministers, who have even led the Throne to depart from the path
of wisdom formerly followed. It is these Ministers who are
entirely to blame.
“The Grand Secretary, Hsü T’ung, was born stupid; he knows
nothing of the needs and dangers of our times. Grand Councillor
Kang Yi, an obstinate bigot, herds with traitors and fawns
on rebels; Ch’i Hsiu is arrogant and obstinate; while Chao
Shu-ch’iao, the President of the Board of Punishments, is
crafty-hearted and a master of sycophancy.
“After the first entry of the Boxers into Peking, your
Majesties held a special audience, at which all the Princes and
Ministers were present, and our advice was asked in regard to
the adoption of a policy of encouragement or repression. Your
Memorialists replied that the Boxers were anything but patriots
and were of no use against foreigners; at the same time we
earnestly begged that war should not be lightly declared
against the whole world. It was on this occasion that Hsü
Tung, Kang Yi, and the rest of them actually dared to rebuke
us in the presence of the Throne. Now, if it were a fact that
a hundred thousand newly sharpened swords might suffice to
overcome our enemies, we, your Memorialists, by no means devoid
of natural feelings of patriotism, would welcome the day when
these foreigners might once for all be smitten hip and thigh.
But if such a result can by no means be achieved under existing
conditions, then it is not we who deserve the name of traitors,
but those Ministers who, by their errors, have led the State to
the brink of disaster.
“When, in the 5th Moon, your Majesties ordered Kang Yi and
Chao Shu-ch’iao to proceed to Cho Chou and order the Boxers
to disperse, the latter forced these Ministers to go down
upon their knees and burn incense before their altar while
they chanted their nonsensical incantations. Chao Shu-ch’iao
knew perfectly well the degrading folly of this performance,
and openly lamented his part in it; but he had not courage
sufficient to contradict Kang Yi, who believed in the Boxers’
magic, so that, upon his returning, he joined Kang Yi in
reporting to the Throne that the Boxers had all dispersed.
But if they have been dispersed, how comes it now that their
numbers have been so greatly increased? And how does the Throne
propose to deal with Ministers who dare to memorialise in this
haphazard manner?
“Tientsin has already fallen, and the foreign troops draw
nearer every day. So far, no magical arts of the Boxers have
availed us anything, and it is our deliberate opinion that,
within a month, the enemy will be knocking at the gates of
our Capital. We ask your Majesties to consider the dire
consequences of the situation, and the possibility of the
desecration of the shrines of your sacred ancestors. Our minds
are filled with horror at the thought of what may occur. But in
the meantime Hsü T’ung, Kang Yi, and the rest of them laugh and
talk together. The ship is sinking, but they remain splendidly
unconcerned, just as if they believed in the Boxers as a tower
of refuge. From such men, the State can no more derive council
than from idiots and drunkards. Even some of the highest in the
land, your Majesty’s own Ministers and members of the Grand
Council, have bowed the knee before the Boxers. Many a Prince’s
palace and a ducal mansion has been converted into a shrine
for the Boxer cult. These Boxers are fools, but they have been
clever enough all the same to befool Hsü T’ung, Kang Yi, and
their followers. Hsü T’ung, Kang Yi, and the rest of them are
fools, but they in their turn have contrived to befool the
Princes and Nobles of the Imperial clan. All our calamities
may be directly traced to these Ministers, to Hsü T’ung, Kang
Yi, and the rest of them, and unless your Majesties will order
their immediate decapitation, thereby vindicating the majesty
of the law, it is inevitable that every official in and near
the Court must accept the Boxer heresies, and other Provincial
Governors, following the lead of Yü Lu and Yü Hsien, will adopt
and spread them.
“And not only on Hsü T’ung, Kang Yi, and their followers should
the Imperial wrath fall, but also upon those in high places
whose midsummer madness has led them to protect and encourage
the Boxers. Their close relationship to your Majesties, or
their position as Imperial clansmen, should in no wise protect
them from the penalty of their guilt. Thus only can the
foreigners be led to recognise that this Boxer madness, this
challenge to the world in arms, was the work of a few misguided
officials, and in no sense an expression of the intentions or
wishes of the Throne. War will then immediately give way to
peace, and the altars of our gods will remain inviolate. And
when these things have come to pass, may your Majesties be
pleased to order the execution of your Memorialists, so that
the spirits of Hsü Tung, Kang Yi, and their associates may be
appeased. Smilingly should we go to our death, and enter the
realms of Hades. In a spirit of uncontrollable indignation and
alarm, we present this Memorial with tears, and beg that your
Majesties may deign to peruse it.”
XIX
SIDELIGHTS ON TZŬ HSI’S STATECRAFT
Yüan Chang and Hsü Ch’ing-ch’eng were not alone in warning Her Majesty
of the danger and folly of her Boxer proclivities. At the beginning of
the crisis Liu K’un-yi, the aged Viceroy of Nanking, sorely distressed at
the suicidal policy into which she had been led, wrote and despatched,
by telegram and swift couriers, a Memorial, in which he implored her
to put a stop to the attacks on the Legations. Tzŭ Hsi’s reply to this
document clearly reveals the indecision which characterised her at this
period, her hopes of revenge on the hated foreigner struggling ever
with her fears of impending disaster. The diary of Ching Shan has shown
us the woman under the fierce stress of her conflicting emotions and
swiftly-changing impulses, of those moods which found their alternating
expression in the ebb and flow of the struggle around the Legations
for more than a month after she had received and answered the southern
Viceroy’s Memorial. Of his unswerving loyalty she had no more doubt than
of that of Jung Lu, and his ripe wisdom had stood her in good stead these
many years. Nevertheless, his advice could not turn her from the path
of revenge, from her dreams of power unrestrained. All it could effect,
aided, no doubt, by the tidings of the Allies’ capture of the Taku Forts,
was to cause her to prepare possible by-paths and bolt-holes of escape
and exoneration. To this end she addressed direct appeals, a tissue of
artless fabrications, to the Sovereigns and chief rulers of the Great
Powers, and proceeded next to display her sympathy with the besieged
Ministers in the Legations by presents of fruits and vegetables, to which
she subsequently referred with pride as convincing proof of her good
faith and goodwill. Her Majesty, in fact, was induced to hedge, while
never abandoning hope that Prince Tuan and his Boxers would make good
their boast and drive the barbarians into the sea.
The Viceroy’s Memorial is chiefly interesting as an example of that chief
and unalterable sentiment which actuates the Chinese _literati_ and
has been one of the strongest pillars of Manchu rule, namely, that the
Emperor is infallible, a sentiment based on the fact that complete and
unquestioning loyalty to the Throne is the essential cornerstone of the
whole fabric of Confucian morality, filial piety, and ancestral worship.
While deprecating the Imperial folly, the Viceroy is therefore compelled
to ascribe it to everyone but Her Majesty, and to praise the Imperial
wisdom and benevolence.
His Memorial is as follows:—
“The present war is due to bandits spreading slaughter
and arson on the pretext of paying off a grudge against
Christianity; thus we are face to face with a serious crisis.
The Powers are uniting to send troops and squadrons to attack
China on the plea of protecting their subjects and suppressing
this rebellion. Our position is critical and the provinces
are naturally bound to look now to their defences. I have
already made the necessary preparations, so that if those
hordes of foreigners do invade us, we shall resist them with
all our might. I feel that our Sovereigns are displaying
glorious virtue and that your Majesties are as bountiful as the
Almighty. Your indulgence to the men from afar indicates the
boundless magnanimity and good faith which animate all your
actions.
“At present, the first essential is to make the Throne’s
embarrassments, which have led up to the present situation,
widely known, as well as the quality of consistent kindness
with which you are imbued. By so doing, rebels will be deprived
of any pretext for further rioting.
“At the beginning of the war, my colleagues and I issued a
proclamation bidding the people go about their avocations as
usual, and not to give heed to suspicious rumours. A petition
has now reached me from Chinese residents abroad to urge
effective protection for foreigners in China, so that there may
be no risk of revenge being taken on themselves. The language
used is very strong, and we have taken advantage of the visit
of the foreign Consuls, who suggested certain measures for
the protection of missionaries and merchants, to give orders
to the Shanghai Taotai to come to an arrangement with them in
regard to the preservation of peace in the Yangtsze valley,
and at Soochow and Hangchow. This arrangement will hold good
so long as they do not invade the region in question. The
Consuls have telegraphed to their respective Governments, and
I to our Ministers abroad, explaining fully this arrangement.
The Germans, owing to the murder of their Minister, were
disposed to oppose it, but finally, under compulsion from their
colleagues, gave their consent also.
“I respectfully quote your Majesties’ decree of the 29th of
the 5th Moon (June 25th): ‘The foreign Ministers are now in a
desperately dangerous position; we are still doing our best to
protect them.’ The decree proceeds to direct us to guard well
our respective provinces and to take such steps as policy may
dictate at this emergency. Again, on the 3rd of the 6th Moon
(June 29th), your decree to our Ministers abroad states ‘We are
now sending troops to protect the Legations, but we are weak
and can only do our best. You are to carry on the business of
your missions abroad as usual.’
“In other words, the Throne is inflicting stern and exemplary
punishment on those foreigners in Tientsin who provoked
hostilities, while doing its utmost to protect those innocent
foreign officials, merchants and missionaries who were not
responsible for those attacks. Your benevolence and the majesty
of your wrath are displayed simultaneously, manifested as
brightly as the sun and moon.
“We have again and again implored you to protect the foreign
Ministers: this is the one all-important step which must on no
account be deferred a day, not only because your Majesties’ own
anxiety recognises its necessity, but because the crisis now
forces it upon you.
“The Ministers abroad, Yang Ju and his colleagues, have
telegraphed to the effect that our first duty is to protect the
lives of the foreign Ministers and of all foreigners in China.
I therefore humbly ask you to send competent troops to protect
the Legations in Peking, and by so doing to protect the lives
of your own Envoys abroad. I also urge you to instruct the
provincial authorities to protect all foreigners within their
respective jurisdictions, and thereby to protect our Chinese
subjects residing in foreign lands. My anxiety is intense.”
To this memorial Tzŭ Hsi replied, by express courier and telegram, as
follows:
“Your memorial has reached us. The Throne was reluctant
lightly to enter upon hostilities, as we have already informed
the several foreign Governments and the various provincial
authorities. We have also issued several decrees ordering
protection for the Ministers and foreign residents all over
China. Hence our ideas seem to be identical with your own.[101]
Happily all the Ministers, except Baron von Ketteler, are
perfectly well and quite comfortable; only a day or two ago we
sent them presents of fruits and viands, in order to show our
commiseration. If the Powers now dare to invade your provinces,
you must all protect your territories and resist with all your
might. Even though at the moment peace may prevail, you must
make most strenuous preparations against possible emergencies.
In a word, we will not willingly be the aggressors. You are
to inform our various Legations abroad of our calm and kindly
feelings towards all foreigners, so that they may think out
some plan of a peaceful settlement, in the general interest.
It is highly desirable that you give no ready ear to vague
rumours which are calculated only to lead to further lack of
unity. This decree is to be conveyed by special courier, at six
hundred _li_ (two hundred miles) a day.”
A few days before this Decree, _i.e._, on the 1st of July, Her Majesty
had drafted with her own pen an explanatory decree for the edification
of the foreign Powers, recounting how the Throne had been led into its
present unpleasant situation. It is interesting to note that, ten days
before, she had offered rewards for the heads of foreigners in Peking
and had sent orders to Yü Hsien to kill every foreigner in Shansi, which
he did. But Tzŭ Hsi had studied her classics and knew from her own
experience how easily dissension and jealousies could be created among
the barbarians.
“Owing to a succession of most unfortunate circumstances,
rapidly and confusedly following each other, we are utterly at
a loss to account for the situation which has brought about
hostilities between China and the Powers. Our representatives
abroad are separated from us by wide seas, and besides have no
special knowledge of the facts, and they are therefore unable
to explain to the respective Foreign Offices the real state of
the Chinese Government’s feelings. We therefore desire now to
place before you the following detailed statement of the facts.
“In the Provinces of Chihli and Shantung there has arisen
a certain class of disorderly characters who, in their
respective villages, have been wont to practise the use of the
quarter-staff and pugilism, combining these exercises with
certain magic arts and incantations. Owing to the failure of
the local Magistrates to detect and stop these proceedings,
the result has been that gradually a state of unrest has
shown itself throughout that region until, all of a sudden,
the Boxer movement assumed serious proportions. They spread
even to Peking, where they were regarded as possessed of
supernatural powers, so that they gained vast numbers of
followers and universal sympathy. Following in their train the
disorderly people of the lower sort raised a cry of ‘Death to
the Christians!’ following upon which, in the middle of the
5th Moon, they proceeded to carry their words into deeds, and
to slaughter the converts. The churches were burned, the whole
city was in an uproar, and the population passed completely out
of our control.
“When the first rumours of the coming disaster were noised
abroad, the Legations asked our consent to bring up special
guards, which consent, in view of the special necessities
of the case, was readily given. In all some five hundred
foreign troops came to Peking, which in itself shows plainly
the friendly disposition of the Throne towards all foreign
nations. Under ordinary circumstances the foreign Legations
and their guards do not come in contact with the local Chinese
authorities, and have no relations with them, friendly or
otherwise; but since the arrival of these troops, the soldiers
have not confined themselves to the duty of protecting the
Legations, but have gone upon the city walls and have even
patrolled the outlying parts of the capital, with the result
that shots have been exchanged and blood has been shed.
Indeed, so great are the liberties which they have taken in
the course of their walks abroad, that on one occasion they
actually endeavoured to force their way into the Forbidden
City, which, however, they failed to do. For these reasons
great and widespread indignation has been excited against them,
and evil-doers have seized the opportunity to commit deeds
of slaughter and arson, waxing daily bolder. At this stage
the Powers endeavoured to bring up[102] reinforcements from
Tientsin, but these were cut to pieces on their journey from
the sea, and the attempt was perforce abandoned. By this time
the rebels in the two provinces had become so intermingled with
the people that it was impossible to identify them. The Throne
was by no means averse to give orders for their suppression,
but had we acted with undue haste, the result might have been a
general conflagration, and our efforts to protect the Legations
might have ended in a dire calamity. If we had proceeded to
destroy the rebels in the two provinces, no single missionary
or native Christian would have been left alive in either, so
that we had to proceed cautiously in this dilemma.
“Under these circumstances we were compelled to suggest the
temporary withdrawal of the Legations to Tientsin, and we were
proceeding to make the necessary arrangements to this end when
the German Minister was unfortunately murdered one morning on
his way to the Tsungli Yamên. This incident placed the rebel
leaders in a desperate position, like that of the man who
rides a tiger and who hesitates whether it be more dangerous
for him to continue his ride or to jump off. It became then
inexpedient that the proposed withdrawal of the Legations to
Tientsin should proceed. All we could do we did, which was to
enforce urgent measures for the due protection of the Legations
in every emergency. To our dismay, on the 16th ultimo, certain
foreign naval officers from the squadron outside Taku had an
interview with the Commandant of the forts, demanding their
surrender, and adding that, if their demand were refused, they
would take them by force on the following day. The Commandant
was naturally unable to betray the trust confided to him, and
the foreigners accordingly bombarded the forts and captured
them after a vigorous resistance. A state of war has thus been
created, but it is none of our doing; besides, how could China
be so utterly foolish, conscious as she is of her weakness, as
to declare war on the whole world at once? How could she hope
to succeed by using the services of untrained bandits for any
such a purpose? This must be obvious to the Powers.
“The above is an accurate statement of our situation,
explaining the measures unavoidably forced upon China to meet
the situation. Our representatives abroad must carefully
explain the tenor of this decree to the Governments to which
they are accredited. We are still instructing our military
Commanders to protect the Legations, and can only do our best.
In the meantime you, our Ministers, must carry on your duties
as usual, and not pose as disinterested spectators.”
Supplementing this Decree, the Empress, possibly instigated by some of
the master-minds of the Grand Council, proceeded to prepare the way for a
time-honoured, and invariably successful, device of Chinese statecraft,
namely, the creation of dissension and jealousy between the Powers, and
to this end she addressed telegrams to the Emperor of Russia, Queen
Victoria, the Emperor of Japan, and other rulers. It is typical of the
infantile _naïveté_ of Chinese officials in such matters of foreign
policy, that copies of these extraordinary messages, intended solely to
mislead public opinion abroad, should have been sent in to the (still
besieged) Legations with the cards of Prince Ch’ing, and the Ministers
of the Tsungli Yamên.[103] It is certain that these artless telegrams,
as well as the conciliatory instructions subsequently sent to China’s
representatives abroad, were but the outward and visible signs of Tzŭ
Hsi’s inward and spiritual misgivings caused by the fall of the Taku
Forts, the capture of the native city of Tientsin, and the massing of the
armies of the Allies for the advance on her capital. If possible, she
would therefore make friends in advance among the humane, and invariably
gullible, sovereigns of Europe, making good use of her knowledge of their
little weaknesses in matters of foreign policy, and be ready to pose in
due course as the innocent victim of circumstance and fate. But “in the
profound seclusion of her Palace” she continued to hope against hope for
the Boxers’ promised victories and the fall of the Legations which she
was so carefully “protecting.”
And here let us briefly digress. Students of modern Chinese history,
desirous of applying its latest lessons to future uses, will no doubt
observe, that in advising the Throne either for peace or war, all
Chinese and Manchu officials (no matter how good or bad from our point
of view, how brave or cowardly, how honest or corrupt) agree and unite
in frankly confessing to their hatred of the foreigner and all his
works. This sentiment, loudly proclaimed by the simple-minded braggart
Boxers, is politely re-echoed by the _literati_, and voiced with equal
candour by the picked men of the Government, men like Yuan Shih-k’ai,
Jung Lu, and Liu K’un-yi. Those who pose as the friends of foreigners
merely advocate dissimulation as a matter of expediency. The thought
should give us pause, not only in accepting at their current value the
posturings and pronouncements of the _monde diplomatique_ at Peking, and
the reassurances given as to our excellent relations with such-and-such
officials, but it should also lead us to consider what are the causes,
in us or in them, which produce so constant and so deep a hatred? If we
study the Memorials of high Chinese officials for the past fifty years,
the same unpleasant feature presents itself at every turn. We may meet
with exceptional cases, here and there, like Yüan Ch’ang, who will
profess respect for the European, but even his respect will be qualified
and never go to the length of intimate friendship. Our perennial
gullibility, that faculty which makes the Chinese classical “allurements”
invariably successful with the foreigner, accounts, no doubt, to some
extent for the Chinese official’s contempt for our intelligence, and
for our failure to learn by experience. It is fairly certain that the
Boxers of to-morrow will be pooh-poohed (if not applauded) in advance
by our Chinese Secretariats, as they were in 1900. But for the Chinese
official’s unchanging hostility towards us, no such explanation offers,
and it is perhaps, therefore, most satisfactory to our _amour propre_ to
assume that his attitude is dictated by feelings similar to those which
inspired Demetrius of the Ephesians, ostensibly fearful for the cult of
Diana, but in reality disturbed for his own livelihood.
To return. The following are translations of the telegrams sent under
date 3rd July, by order of the Empress Dowager, to the Emperor of Russia,
Queen Victoria, and the Emperor of Japan. The text of those which were
sent at the same time to the Presidents of the French and American
Republics, and which were dated, curiously enough, on the 19th of June
(the Taku Forts fell on the 16th), have been published in Monsieur
Cordier’s most accurate and painstaking work, _Les Relations de la
Chine_, Vol. III.
Telegram dated 3rd July:—
“To the Emperor of Russia:—Greeting to your Majesty! For over
two hundred and fifty years our neighbouring Empires have
enjoyed unbroken relations of friendship, more cordial than
those existing between any other Powers.
“Recent ill-feeling created between converts to Christianity
and the rest of our people have afforded an opportunity to
evil-disposed persons and rebels to create disturbances,
and the result has been that the foreign Powers have been
led to believe that the Throne itself is a party to their
proceedings and is hostile to Christianity. Your Majesty’s
representative at my Court (M. de Giers) has actually requested
our Foreign Office to suppress the rebellion and thus to allay
the suspicions of the Powers. But at the time that he made
this request, Peking was thoroughly infested with rebels, who
had stirred up the people and gained for themselves no small
prestige. Not only our soldiery but the mass of the people were
burning for revenge against those who practised the foreign
religion, and even certain Princes of our Imperial Clan joined
in the movement, declaring that there was no room in the
Celestial Kingdom for Christianity and the ancient religions
of the soil. My chief anxiety has been lest any precipitate
action on the part of the Government might lead to some dire
catastrophe (_i.e._, the destruction of the Legations), and
I feared, too, that the anti-foreign movement might break
out simultaneously at the Treaty Ports in the South, which
would have made the position hopeless. I was doing my utmost
to find a way out of the dilemma when the foreign Powers,
evidently failing to realise the difficulties of our situation,
precipitated matters by the bombardment and capture of the
Taku Forts: now we are confronted with all the dire calamities
of war, and the confusion in our Empire is greater than ever
before. Amongst all the Powers, none has enjoyed such friendly
relations with China as Russia. On a former occasion I deputed
Li Hung-chang to proceed to your Majesty’s capital as my
special Envoy; he drew up on our behalf and concluded with your
country a secret Treaty of Alliance, which is duly recorded in
the Imperial Archives.
“And now that China has incurred the enmity of the civilised
world by stress of circumstances beyond our power to control,
I must perforce rely upon your country to act as intermediary
and peacemaker on our behalf. I now make this earnest and
sincere appeal to your Majesty, begging that you may be
pleased to come forward as arbitrator, and thus to relieve
the difficulties of our situation. We await with anxiety your
gracious reply.”
On the same day the Empress Dowager addressed Her Majesty Queen Victoria
in a telegram which was sent in the Emperor’s name and forwarded through
the Chinese Minister in London. Its text runs as follows:—
“To your Majesty, greeting!—In all the dealings of England with
the Empire of China, since first relations were established
between us, there has never been any idea of territorial
aggrandisement on the part of Great Britain, but only a keen
desire to promote the interests of her trade. Reflecting on
the fact that our country is now plunged into a dreadful
condition of warfare, we bear in mind that a large proportion
of China’s trade, seventy or eighty per cent., is done with
England: moreover, your Customs duties are the lightest in the
world, and few restrictions are made at your sea-ports in the
matter of foreign importations; for these reasons our amicable
relations with British merchants at our Treaty Ports have
continued unbroken for the last half century, to our mutual
benefit.
“But a sudden change has now occurred and general suspicion
has been created against us. We would therefore ask you
now to consider that if, by any conceivable combination of
circumstances, the independence of our Empire should be lost,
and the Powers unite to carry out their long plotted schemes
to possess themselves of our territory, the results to your
country’s interests would be disastrous and fatal to your
trade. At this moment our Empire is striving to the utmost to
raise an army and funds sufficient for its protection; in the
meanwhile we rely upon your good services to act as mediator,
and now anxiously await your decision.”
Again, in the name of the Emperor and through the Chinese Minister at
Tokio, the following message was addressed to the Emperor of Japan:—
“To your Majesty, greeting!—The Empires of China and Japan
hang together, even as the lips and the teeth, and the
relations existing between them have always been sympathetic.
Last month we were plunged in deep grief when we learned of
the murder of the Chancellor of your Legation in Peking; we
were about to arrest and punish the culprits when the Powers,
unnecessarily suspicious of our motives, seized the Taku Forts,
and we found ourselves involved in all the horrors of war. In
face of the existing situation, it appears to us that at the
present time the Continents of Europe and Asia are opposed
to each other, marshalling their forces for a conflict of
irreconcilable ambitions; everything therefore depends upon our
two Asiatic Empires standing firm together at this juncture.
The earth-hungry Powers of the West, whose tigerish eyes of
greed are fixed in our direction, will certainly not confine
their attention to China. In the event of our Empire being
broken up, Japan in her turn will assuredly be hard pressed
to maintain her independence. The community of our interests
renders it clearly imperative that at this crisis we should
disregard all trifling causes of discord, and consider only the
requirements of the situation, as comrade nations. We rely upon
your Majesty to come forward as arbitrator, and anxiously await
your gracious reply to this appeal.”
These remarkable effusions have been inscribed in the annals of the
Dynasty, by order of Her Majesty, those same annals from which all
her Boxer Edicts have been solemnly expunged for purposes of historic
accuracy. One cannot but hope that, in process of time, consideration of
facts like these may cure European diplomacy and officialdom generally of
its unreasoning reverence for the Chinese written character, a species of
fetish-worship imbibed from the native pundit and aggravated by the sense
of importance which knowledge of this ancient language so frequently
confers.
These Imperial messages throw into strong relief the elementary
simplicity of China’s foreign policy, a quality which foreigners
frequently misunderstand, in the general belief that the Oriental mind
conceals great depths of subtlety and secret information. Looking at
these documents in the light of the known facts of China’s political
situation at that moment, and stripping them of all artificial glamour,
it becomes almost inconceivable that any Government should publish to
the world and file in its archives such puerile productions. But it
is frequently the case that this very kindergarten element in Chinese
politics is a stumbling-block to the elaborate and highly specialised
machinery of European diplomacy, and that, being at a loss how to deal
with the suspiciously transparent artifices of the elderly children of
the Waiwupu, the foreigner excuses and consoles himself by attributing
to them occult faculties and resources of a very high order. If one
must be continually worsted, it is perhaps not unwise to attribute to
one’s adversary the qualities of Macchiavelli, Talleyrand and Metternich
combined. As far as British interests are concerned, one of the chief
lessons emphasised by the events of the past ten years in China is, that
the reform of our diplomatic machinery (and particularly of the Consular
service) is urgently needed, a reform for which more than one British
Minister has vainly pleaded in Downing Street.
XX
THE FLIGHT FROM PEKING AND THE COURT IN EXILE
The diarist, Ching Shan, has described in detail the flight of the
Empress Dowager and Emperor from Peking, before dawn, on the morning of
the 15th August. From an account of the Court’s journey, subsequently
written by the Grand Secretary, Wang Wen-shao, to friends in Chekiang,
and published in one of the vernacular papers of Shanghai, we obtain
valuable corroboration of the diarist’s accuracy, together with much
interesting information.
Wang Wen-shao overtook their Majesties at Huai-lai on the 18th August;
for the past three days they had suffered dangers and hardships
innumerable. On the evening of the 19th they had stopped at Kuanshih
(seventy _li_ from Peking), where they slept in the Mosque. There the
Mahommedan trading firm of “Tung Kuang yü” (the well-known contractors
for the hire of pack animals for the northern caravan trade) had supplied
them with the best of the poor food available—coarse flour, vegetables,
and millet porridge—and had provided mule litters for the next stage of
the journey. As the troops of the escort had been ordered to remain at
some distance behind, so long as there was any risk of pursuit by the
Allies’ cavalry, their Majesties’ arrival was unannounced, and their
identity unsuspected. As they descended from their carts, travel-stained,
weary, and distressed, they were surrounded by a large crowd of refugee
idlers and villagers, eager for news from the capital. An eye-witness of
the scene has reported that, looking nervously about him, the Emperor
said, “We have to thank the Boxers for this,” whereupon the Old Buddha,
undaunted even at the height of her misfortunes, bade him be silent.
Next day they travelled, by mule litter, ninety _li_ (thirty-two miles),
and spent the night at Ch’a-Tao, just beyond the Great Wall. Here no
preparations of any kind had been made for their reception, and they
suffered much hardship, sleeping on the brick platform (_k’ang_) without
any adequate bedding. But the Magistrate of Yen-Ch’ing chou had been
able to find a blue sedan-chair for Her Majesty, who had thus travelled
part of the day in greater comfort. Also at midday, stopping to eat at
Chü-yung kuan, Li Lien-ying, the chief eunuch, had obtained a few tea
cups from the villagers.
On the 16th they travelled from Ch’a-Tao to Huai-lai, a hard stage
of fifty _li_. Some of the officials and Chamberlains of the Court
now joined their Majesties, so that the party consisted of seventeen
carts, in addition to the Old Buddha’s palanquin and the Emperor’s mule
litter. As the _cortège_ advanced, and the news of their flight was
spread abroad, rumours began to be circulated that they were pretenders,
personating the Son of Heaven and the Old Buddha, rumours due, no doubt,
to the fact that Her Majesty was still wearing her hair in the Chinese
manner, and that her clothes were the common ones in which she had
escaped from the Forbidden City. In spite of these rumours the Magistrate
of Huai-lai, a Hupeh man (Wu Yung), had received no intimation of their
Majesties’ coming, and, when the Imperial party, accompanied by an
enormous crowd, entered his Yamên, he had no time to put on his official
robes, but rushed down to receive them as he was. After prostrating
himself, he wanted to clear out the noisy and inquisitive rabble, but
the Old Buddha forbade him, saying, “Not so; let them crowd around us
as much as they like. It amuses me to see these honest country folk.”
Here, after three days of coarse fare, the Empress Dowager rejoiced once
more in a meal of birds’-nest soup and sharks’ fins, presented by the
Magistrate, who also furnished her with an outfit of woman’s clothing and
suits for the Emperor and the Heir Apparent, for all of which he received
Her Majesty’s repeated and grateful thanks.
It was here, at Huai-lai, while the Court was taking a day’s rest, that
Wang Wen-shao came up with them. He was cordially, even affectionately,
greeted by the Old Buddha, who condoled with him on the hardships to
which he had been exposed, and insisted on his sharing her birds’-nest
soup, which, she said, he would surely enjoy as much as she had done
after so many and great privations. She rebuked the Emperor for not
greeting the aged Councillor with warm thanks for his touching devotion
to the Throne.
From Huai-lai, Prince Ch’ing was ordered to return to Peking to negotiate
terms of peace with the Allies. Knowing the difficulties of this task, he
went reluctantly; before leaving he had a long audience with Her Majesty,
who assured him of her complete confidence in his ability to make terms,
and bade him adopt a policy similar to that of Prince Kung in 1860.
Wang Wen-shao’s account of the first part of the Court’s journey is
sufficiently interesting to justify textual reproduction.
“Their Majesties fled from the palace at the dawn of day in
common carts. It was only after their arrival at Kuanshih that
they were provided with litters. The Emperor and Prince P’u Lun
rode on one cart until their arrival at Huai-lai, where the
District Magistrate furnished a palanquin, and later on, at
Hsüan-hua, four large sedan chairs were found for the Imperial
party. It was at this point that the Emperor’s Consort overtook
their Majesties.
“So hurried was the flight that no spare clothes had been
taken; the Empress Dowager was very shabbily dressed, so as to
be almost unrecognisable, the Chinese mode of hair-dressing
producing a very remarkable alteration in her appearance.
On the first night after leaving Peking, they slept, like
travellers of the lowest class, on the raised brick platform
of the inn, where not even rice was obtainable for the evening
meal, so that they were compelled to eat common porridge made
of millet. In all the disasters recorded in history, never has
there been such a pitiful spectacle.
“It was only after reaching Huai-lai that their condition
improved somewhat, but even then the number of personal
attendants and eunuchs was very small, and not a single
concubine was there to wait upon the Old Buddha. For the first
few days’ flight, neither Prince Li, nor Jung Lu, nor Ch’i Hsiu
(all of them Grand Councillors), were in attendance so that
Her Majesty nominated Prince Tuan to serve on the Council. She
reviled him at the outset severely, reproaching him for the
misfortunes which had overtaken the Dynasty, but as time went
on, as he shared with her the privations and troubles of the
day’s journey, she became more gracious towards him. This was
to some extent due to the very great influence which Prince
Tuan’s wife exercised at Court.
“When I reached Huai-lai, the Court consisted of the Princes
Tuan, Ching, Na, Su, and P’u Lun, with a following of high
officials led by Kang Yi, and some twenty Secretaries. General
Ma’s troops and some of the Banner Corps of Prince Tuan formed
the Imperial escort; and they plundered every town and village
on their line of march. This, however, is hardly remarkable,
because all the shops had been closed and there were no
provisions to be purchased anywhere.
“To go back for a few days. Yü Lu (Viceroy of Chihli) shot
himself in a coffin shop at a place south of the Hunting Park,
and Li Ping-heng took poison after the defeat of his troops
at T’ungchow. The Court’s flight had already been discussed
after the first advance of the Allies from T’ungchow towards
Peking; but the difficulty in providing sufficient transport
was considered insuperable. On the 19th of the Moon a steady
cannonade began at about midnight, and, from my house in Magpie
Lane, one could note, by the volume of sound, that the attack
was steadily advancing closer to the city, and eventually
bullets came whistling as thick as hail. The bombardment
reached its height at about noon on the 20th, when news was
brought that two gates of the Imperial City had been taken
by storm. I was unable to verify this report. It was my turn
for night duty at the Palace, but after the last audience, I
was unable to enter the Forbidden City, as all its gates were
barred. It was only at 7 A.M. on the 21st inst. (August 15th)
that I was able to gain admittance to the Forbidden City, and
then I learned that their Majesties had hurriedly fled. On the
previous day five urgent audiences with the Grand Council had
been held; at the last of these only Kang Yi, Chao Shu ch’iao,
and myself were present. Sadly regarding us, the Old Buddha
said, ‘I see there are only three of you left. No doubt all the
rest have fled, leaving us, mother and son, to our fate. I want
you all to come with me on my journey.’ Turning to me she then
said, ‘You are too old. I would not wish you to share in all
this hardship. Follow us as best you can later on.’ The Emperor
expressed his wishes in the same sense.
“By this time it was nearly midnight, and they still hesitated
about leaving the city; judge then of my surprise to learn
that, at the first streak of dawn, their Majesties had left
the city in indescribable disorder and frantic haste. I could
not return to my house that day because all the gates of the
Imperial City were closed, but at 10 A.M. on the following day,
I made my way out of the Houmen.[104] On my way I came across
Jung Lu; he had fainted in his chair, and had been forsaken
by his cowardly bearers. He said: ‘This is the end. You and I
never believed in these Boxers; see now to what a pass they
have brought the Old Buddha. If you see Her Majesty, tell her
that I have gone to rally the troops, and that, if I live, I
will join her later on.’
“After leaving Jung Lu, I made my way to a little temple which
lies midway between the North and the North-West Gates of the
city, and there I rested a while. It was the opinion of the
Abbot in charge that the foreigners would burn every temple
of the city, as all of them had been used by the Boxers for
their magic rites, and he said that, in times of dire peril
such as this, it was really inconvenient for him to offer
any hospitality to visitors. Just at this moment news was
brought us that the foreign troops were on the wall of the
city, between the two gates nearest to us, and that they were
firing down upon the streets; the city was already invested,
but the foreigners were not molesting civilians, though
they were shooting all ‘braves’ and men in uniform. As the
priest declined to receive me, I sought refuge at the house
of a man named Han, retainer in the Imperial Household, who
lived close by. All my chair-bearers and servants had fled.
Shortly after noon I heard that one might still leave Peking
by the Hsi-chih Men; so leaving everything—carts, chairs, and
animals—where they were, I started off at dusk on foot with
such money and clothing as I had on my person. The road ahead
of me was blocked by a dense crowd of refugees. I took the
road by the Drum Tower, skirting the lakes to the north of the
Imperial City. Towards evening a dreadful thunderstorm came
on, so I took refuge for the night with the Ching family. The
bombardment had ceased by this time, but the whole northern
part of the Imperial City appeared to be in flames, which
broke out in fresh places all through the night. At three in
the morning we heard that the West Gates were opened, and that
the City Guards had fled, but that the foreigners had not yet
reached that part of the city.
“I had intended to travel by cart, but the disorganised troops
had by this time seized every available beast of burden. My
second son, however, was luckily able to persuade Captain Liu
to fetch one of my carts out from the city, and this was done
after several narrow escapes. I had left Peking on foot, but
at the bridge close to the North-West Gate I found this cart
awaiting me, and with it my second son, who was riding on a
mule, and the five servants who remained to us following on
foot. When we reached Hai-Tien (a town which lies close to the
Summer Palace) every restaurant was closed, but we managed to
get a little food, and then hurried on after their Majesties
to Kuanshih, where we passed the night. Next day, continuing
our journey, we learned that their Majesties were halting at
Huai-lai, where we overtook them on the 24th day of the Moon.
We expect to reach T’ai-yüan fu about the middle of next week.
“The dangers of our journey are indescribable. Every shop
on the road had been plundered by bands of routed troops,
who pretend to be part of the Imperial escort. These bandits
are ahead of us at every stage of the journey, and they have
stripped the country-side bare, so that when the Imperial party
reaches any place, and the escort endeavour to commandeer
supplies, the distress of the inhabitants and the confusion
which ensues are really terrible to witness. The districts
through which we have passed are literally devastated.”
From Huai-lai the Court moved on to Hsüan-hua fu, a three days’ march,
and there remained for four days, resting and preparing for the journey
into Shansi. The Border Warden at Sha-ho chên had provided their
Majesties with green (official) sedan chairs, and the usual etiquette of
the Court and Grand Council was being gradually restored. Her Majesty’s
spirits were excellent, and she took a keen interest in everything.
At Chi-ming yi, for instance, she was with difficulty dissuaded from
stopping to visit a temple on the summit of an adjoining hill, in honour
of which shrine the Emperor Kanghsi had left a tablet carved with a
memorial inscription in verse.
At Hsüan-hua fu there was considerable disorder, but the Court enjoyed
increased comforts; thanks to the zeal and energy of the local Magistrate
(Ch’en Pen). Here the Old Buddha received Prince Ch’ing’s first despatch
from Peking, which gave a deplorable account of the situation.
The Court left Hsüan-hua on the 25th August (its numbers being increased
by the Emperor’s Consort with a few of her personal attendants) and spent
the night at a garrison station called Tso-Wei. The deplorable state of
the country was reflected in the accommodation they found there; for the
guards had fled, and the official quarters had all been plundered and
burnt, with the exception of two small rooms, evil-smelling and damp.
There was no food to be had, except bread made of sodden flour. One of
the two available rooms was occupied by the Old Buddha, the other by
Kuang Hsü and his Consort, while all the officials of the Court, high
and low, fared as best they might in the stuffy courtyard. For once the
venerable mother’s composure deserted her. “This is abominable,” she
complained; “the place swarms with insects, and I cannot sleep a wink. It
is disgraceful that I should have come to such a pass at my time of life.
My state is worse even than that of the Emperor Hsüan-Tsung of the T’ang
Dynasty, who was forced to fly from his capital, and saw his favourite
concubine murdered before his very eyes.” An unsubstantiated report that
the Allies had plundered her palace treasure vaults was not calculated to
calm Her Majesty, and for a while the suite went in fear of her wrath.
On August 27th the Court crossed the Shansi border, and spent the night
at T’ien-chen hsien. The local Magistrate, a Manchu, had committed
suicide after hearing of the fall of Moukden and other Manchurian cities;
and the town was in a condition of ruinous disorder. Their Majesties
supped off a meal hastily provided by the Gaol Warder. But their courage
was restored by the arrival of Ts’en Ch’un-hsüan,[105] an official of
high intelligence and courage, who greatly pleased the Old Buddha by
bringing her a gift of eggs and a girdle and pouch for her pipe and purse.
On the 30th August the Court lay at Ta-t’ung fu, in the Yamên of the
local Brigadier-General. They stayed here four days, enjoying the greatly
improved accommodation which the General’s efforts had secured for them.
On September 4th, they reached the market town of T’ai-yüeh, having
travelled thirty-five miles that day, and here again they found damp
rooms and poor fare. But Her Majesty’s spirits had recovered. On the
16th, while crossing the hill-pass of the “Flighting Geese,” Her Majesty
ordered a halt in order to enjoy the view. “It reminds me of the Jehol
Country,” she said. Then, turning to the Emperor, “After all, it’s
delightful to get away like this from Peking and to see the world, isn’t
it?” “Under happier circumstances, it would be,” replied Kuang Hsü. At
this point Ts’en Ch’un-hsüan brought Her Majesty a large bouquet of
yellow flowers, a present which touched her deeply: in return she sent
him a jar of butter-milk tea.
On the 7th, the only accommodation which the local officials had been
able to prepare at Yüan-p’ing was a mud-house belonging to one of the
common people, in which, by an oversight, several empty coffins had
been left. Ts’en, arriving ahead of the party, was told of this, and
galloped to make excuses to Her Majesty and take her orders. Happily,
the “Motherly Countenance” was not moved to wrath, and “the divine
condescension was manifested.” “If the coffins can be moved, move them,”
she said; “but so long as they are not in the main room, I do not greatly
mind their remaining.” They were all removed, however, and the Old Buddha
was protected from possibly evil influences.
On the 8th September, at Hsin Chou, three Imperial (yellow) chairs had
been provided by the local officials, so that their Majesties’ entrance
into T’ai-yüan fu, on the 10th, was not unimposing. The Court took up
its residence in the Governor’s Yamên (that same bloodstained building
in which, six weeks before, Yü Hsien had massacred the missionaries). Yü
Hsien, the Governor, met their Imperial Majesties outside the city walls,
and knelt by the roadside as the Old Buddha’s palanquin came up. She bade
her bearers stop, and called to him to approach. When he had done so,
she said: “At your farewell audience, in the last Moon of the last year,
you assured me that the Boxers were really invulnerable. Alas! You were
wrong, and now Peking has fallen! But you did splendidly in carrying out
my orders and in ridding Shansi of the whole brood of foreign devils.
Everyone speaks well of you for this, and I know, besides, how high is
your reputation for good and honest work. Nevertheless, and because the
foreign devils are loudly calling for vengeance upon you, I may have to
dismiss you from office, as I had to do with Li Ping-heng: but be not
disturbed in mind, for, if I do this, it is only to throw dust in the
eyes of the barbarians, for our own ends. We must just bide our time, and
hope for better days.”
Yü Hsien kowtowed, as in duty bound, nine times, and replied: “Your
Majesty’s slave caught them as in a net, and allowed neither chicken nor
dog to escape: yet am I ready to accept punishment and dismissal from my
post. As to the Boxers, they have been defeated because they failed to
abide by the laws of the Order, and because they killed and plundered
innocent people who were not Christians.”
This conversation was clearly heard by several bystanders, one of whom
reported it in a letter to Shanghai. When Yü Hsien had finished speaking,
the Old Buddha sighed, and told her bearers to proceed. A few days later
she issued the first of the Expiatory Decrees by which Yü Hsien and
other Boxer leaders were dismissed from office, but not before she had
visited the courtyard where the hapless missionaries had met their fate,
and cross-examined Yü Hsien on every detail of that butchery. And it is
recorded, that, while she listened eagerly to this tale of unspeakable
cowardice and cruelty, the Heir Apparent was swaggering noisily up and
down the courtyard, brandishing the huge sword given him by Yü Hsien,
with which his devil’s work had been done. No better example could be
cited of this remarkable woman’s primitive instincts and elemental
passion of vindictiveness.
Once more, during the Court’s residence at T’ai-yüan, did the Old Buddha
and Yü Hsien meet. At this audience, realising the determination of
the foreigners to exact the death penalty in this case, and realising
also the Governor’s popularity with the inhabitants of T’ai-yüan, she
told him, with unmistakable significance, that the price of coffins was
rising, a plain but euphemistic hint that he would do well to commit
suicide before a worse fate overtook him.
Her Majesty was much gratified at the splendid accommodation provided
for her at T’ai-yüan, and particularly pleased to see all the gold and
silver vessels and utensils that had been made in 1775 for Ch’ien Lung’s
progress to the sacred shrines of Wu-T’ai shan; they had been polished
up for the occasion and made a brave show, so that the “Benevolent
Countenance” beamed with delight. “We have nothing like this in Peking,”
she said.
[Illustration: MARBLE BRIDGE IN THE GROUNDS OF THE LAKE PALACE.
_Photo, Betines, Peking._]
[Illustration: IN THE GROUNDS OF THE PALACE IN THE WESTERN PARK.
_Photo, Betines, Peking._]
Jung Lu joined the Court on the day after its arrival at T’ai-yüan, and
was most affectionately welcomed by the Old Buddha, to whom he gave
a full account of his journey through Chihli and of the widespread
devastation wrought by the Boxers. He had previously sent in the
following Memorial which clearly reflects those qualities which
had endeared him to his Imperial Mistress, and which so honourably
distinguished him from the sycophants and classical imbeciles of the
Court:—
“At dawn, on the 21st day of the 7th Moon (15th August) your
Majesty’s servant proceeded to the Gate of Reverend Peace
(inside the Palace), and learned that your Majesties’ sacred
chariot had left for the West. While there I came across Ch’ung
Ch’i,[106] the President of the Board of Revenue, and we were
proposing to hurry after your Majesties, when we learned that
the North-Eastern and Northern Gates of the city had fallen. So
we left Peking by another gate, my first object being to try
and rally some of the troops. But after several conferences
with Generals Sung Ch’ing and Tung Fu-hsiang, I was forced to
the conclusion that our repeated defeats had been too severe,
and that, in the absence of large reinforcements, there was
no hope of our being able to take the field again. Our men
were in a state of complete panic and had lost all stomach for
fighting. I therefore left and came on to Pao-t’ing fu, and
lodged there with Ch’ung Ch’i in the “Water Lily” Garden. All
night long he and I discussed the situation, hoping to see
some way out of the misfortunes which had overtaken the State.
Ch’ung Ch’i could not conceal the bitterness of his grief,
and on the morning of the next day he hanged himself in one
of the outer courtyards, leaving a letter for me in which was
enclosed his valedictory Memorial to your Majesties, together
with a set of verses written just before his death. These I
now forward for your Majesty’s gracious perusal, because I
feel that his suicide deserves your pity, just as his high
sense of duty merits your praise. He was indeed a man of the
purest integrity, and had all the will, though, alas, not
the power, to avert the misfortunes which have befallen us.
He had always looked upon the magic arts of the Boxers with
profound contempt, unworthy even of the effort of a smile
from a wise man. At this critical juncture, the loss of my
trusted colleague is indeed a heavy blow, but I am compelled
to remember that the position which I hold, all unworthily, as
your Majesty’s Commander-in-Chief, necessitates my bearing the
burden of my heavy responsibilities so long as the breath of
life is in my body.
“Such makeshift arrangements as were feasible I made for the
temporary disposal of Ch’ung Ch’i’s remains, and I now forward
the present Memorial by special courier to your Majesty,
informing you of the manner of his decease, because I hold
it to be unfitting that his end should pass unnoticed and
unhonoured. Your Majesty will, no doubt, determine on the
posthumous honours to be accorded to him.
“It is now my intention to proceed, with what speed I may, to
T’ai-yüan fu, there to pay my reverent duty to your Majesty
and to await the punishment due for my failure to avert these
calamities.”
In reply to this Memorial, Tzŭ Hsi conferred high posthumous honours upon
Ch’ung Ch’i, praising his loyalty and honesty.
Jung Lu proceeded on his journey, but at a town on the Chihli border his
wife took ill and died. She had only joined him at Pao-t’ing fu. The Old
Buddha welcomed him with sincere affection upon his arrival at T’ai-yüan
and raised his secondary wife, the Lady Liu, to the rank of “Fu Jen”
or legitimate consort. (This lady had always had great influence with
the Empress Dowager, which increased during the exile of the Court, and
became most noticeable after the return to Peking.)
Tzŭ Hsi asked Jung Lu for his advice as to her future policy. Bluntly,
as was his wont, he replied “Old Buddha, there is only one way. You must
behead Prince Tuan and all the rest of the Princes and Ministers who
misled you and then you must return to Peking.”
An incident, vouched for by a high Manchu official attached to the Court,
illustrates the relations at this time existing between the Emperor,
the Empress Dowager, and Jung Lu. When the latter reached T’ai-yüan fu,
Kuang-Hsü sent a special messenger to summon him. “I am glad you have
come at last,” said His Majesty. “I desire that you will have Prince Tuan
executed without delay.”
“How can I do so without the Empress Dowager’s orders?” he replied. “The
days are past when no other Decree but your Majesty’s was needed.”[107]
Jung Lu’s position, but for the high favour of the Empress Dowager,
would have been full of danger, for he was disliked by reactionaries
and reformers alike; surrounded by extremists, his intuitive common
sense, his doctrine of the “happy mean” had made him many enemies. Nor
could he lay claim to a reputation for that “purest integrity” which
he had so greatly admired in his colleague Ch’ung Ch’i. At T’ai-yüan
fu, he was openly denounced to the Old Buddha for having connived in
the embezzlements of a certain Ch’en Tsê-lin, who had been robbing
the military Treasury on a grand scale. Jung Lu had ordered that his
defalcations be made good, but subsequently informed the Throne that the
money had been captured by the Allies, and the accusing Censor did not
hesitate to say that the price of his conversion (brought to his quarters
by the hands of a sergeant named Yao) had been forty thousand taels of
silver, twenty pounds of best birdnests, and four cases of silk. The
Empress Dowager shelved the Memorial, as was her wont, though no doubt
she used the information for the ultimate benefit of her privy purse.
Jung Lu also received vast sums of money and many valuable presents on
his birthday, and at the condolence ceremonies for the death of his wife,
so much so that he incurred the fierce jealousy of the chief eunuch Li
Lien-ying, who was doing his best at this time to re-feather his own
nest, despoiled by the troops of the Allies.
At T’ai-yüan fu, so many officials had joined the Court that intrigues
became rife; there was much heartburning as to precedence and status.
Those who had borne the burden and heat of the day, the dangers and the
hardships of the flight from Peking, claimed special recognition and
seniority at the hands of their Imperial Mistress. Each of these thought
they should be privileged above those of equal rank who had only rejoined
the Court when all danger was past, and still more so above those who
were now hurrying up from the provinces in search of advancement.
The chief topic of discussion at audience, and at meetings of the
Grand Council, was the question of the Court’s return to Peking, or of
the removal of the Capital to one of the chief cities of the South or
West. Chang Chih-tung had put in a Memorial, strongly recommending the
city of Tang-Yang in Hupei, on account of its central position. One of
the arguments gravely put forward by the “scholarly bungler” for this
proposal was, that the characters “Tang-Yang” (which mean “facing south”)
were in themselves of good augury, and an omen of better days to come,
because the Emperor always sits with his face to the south. Chang’s
enemies at Court saw in this idea a veiled hint that the Emperor should
be restored to power.
But Jung Lu was now _facile princeps_ in the Old Buddha’s counsels, and
at audience his colleagues of the Grand Council (Lu Ch’uan-lin and Wang
Wen-shao) followed his lead implicitly. He never ceased to advise the
Empress to return forthwith to Peking, and, when at a later date she
decided on this step, it was rather because of her faith in his sound
judgment than because of the many Memorials sent in from other high
officials. During the Court’s stay at T’ai-yüan fu, argument on this
subject was continual, but towards the end of September rumours reached
Her Majesty that the Allies were sending a swift punitive expedition to
avenge the murdered missionaries; this decided her to leave at once for
Hsi-an fu, where she would feel safe from further pursuit. The Court left
accordingly on the 30th September; but as the preservation of “face”
before the world is a fundamental principle, with Empresses as with
slave-girls, in China, her departure was announced in the following brief
Edict:—
“As Shansi province is suffering from famine, which makes it
very difficult to provide for our needs, and as the absence
of telegraphic communication there causes all manner of
inconvenient delays, we are compelled to continue our progress
westwards to Hsi-an.”
The journey into Shensi was made with all due provision for the dignity
and comfort of their Majesties, but the Empress was overcome by grief
_en route_ at the death of Kang Yi, chief patron of the Boxers, and the
most bigoted and violent of all the reactionaries near the Throne. He
fell ill at a place called Hou Ma, and died in three days, although the
Vice-President of the Board of Censors, Ho Nai-ying, obtained leave to
remain behind and nurse him. The Old Buddha was most reluctant to leave
the invalid, and showed unusual emotion. After his death she took a
kindly interest in his son (who followed the Court to Hsi-an) and would
frequently speak to him of his father’s patriotism and loyalty.
At Hsi-an fu the Court occupied the Governor’s official residence, into
which Her Majesty removed after residing for a while in the buildings
formerly set apart for the temporary accommodation of the Viceroy of
Kansuh and Shensi on visits of inspection. Both Yamêns had been prepared
for Their Majesties’ use; the walls had been painted Imperial red,
and the outer Court surrounded with a palisade, beyond which were the
quarters of the Imperial Guards, and the makeshift lodgings of the
Metropolitan Boards and the officials of the nine Ministries on Palace
duty. The arrangements of the Court, though restricted in the matter
of space, were on much the same lines as in Peking. The main hall of
the “Travelling Palace” was left empty, the side halls being used as
ante-chambers for officials awaiting audience. Behind the main hall was
a room to which access was given by a door with six panels, two of which
were left open, showing the Throne in the centre of the room, upholstered
in yellow silk. It was here that Court ceremonies took place. On the
left of this room was the apartment where audiences were held daily,
and behind this again were the Empress Dowager’s bedroom and private
sitting-room. The Emperor and his Consort occupied a small apartment
communicating with the Old Buddha’s bedroom, and to the west of these
again were three small rooms, occupied by the Heir Apparent. The chief
eunuch occupied the room next to that of the Old Buddha on the east side.
The general arrangements for the comfort and convenience of the Court
were necessarily of a makeshift and provisional character and the Privy
Purse was for a time at a low ebb, so that Her Majesty was much exercised
over the receipt and safe custody of the tribute, in money and in kind,
which came flowing in from the provinces. So long as the administration
of her household was under the supervision of Governor Ts’en, the
strictest economy was practised; for instance, the amount allowed by him
for the upkeep of their Majesties’ table was two hundred taels (about
£25) per day, which, as the Old Buddha remarked on one occasion, was
about one-tenth of the ordinary expenditure under the same heading at
Peking. “We are living cheaply now,” she said; to which the Governor
replied, “The amount could still be reduced with advantage.”
Her Majesty’s custom, in selecting the menus for the day, was to have a
list of about one hundred dishes brought in every evening by the eunuch
on duty. After the privations of the flight from Peking, the liberal
supply of swallows’ nests and _bêche-de-mer_ which came in from the South
was very much appreciated, and her rough fare of chickens and eggs gave
way to recherché menus; but the Emperor, as usual, limited himself to
a diet of vegetables. She gave orders that no more than half a dozen
dishes should be served at one meal, and she took personal pains with the
supply of milk, of which she always consumed a considerable quantity. Six
cows were kept in the immediate vicinity of the Imperial apartments, for
the feeding of which Her Majesty was charged two hundred taels a month.
Her health was good on the whole, but she suffered from indigestion,
which she attributed to the change of climate and the fatigues of her
journey. For occasional attacks of insomnia she had recourse to massage,
in which several of the eunuchs were well-skilled. After the Court had
settled down at Hsi-an fu, Her Majesty was again persuaded to permit
the presentation of plays, which she seemed generally to enjoy as much
as those in Peking. But her mind was for ever filled with anxiety as
to the progress of the negotiations with the foreign Powers at the
Capital, and all telegrams received were brought to her at once. The
news of the desecration of her Summer Palace had filled her with wrath
and distress, especially when, in letters from the eunuch Sun (who had
remained in charge at Peking), she learned that her Throne had been
thrown into the lake, and that the soldiers had made “lewd and ribald
drawings and writings” even on the walls of her bedroom. It was with the
greatest relief that she heard of the settlement of the terms of peace,
subsequently recorded in the Protocol of 7th of September, and so soon
as these terms had been irrevocably arranged, she issued a Decree (June,
1901) fixing the date for the Court’s return in September. This Decree,
issued in the name of the Emperor, was as follows:
“Our Sacred Mother’s advanced age renders it necessary that we
should take the greatest care of her health, so that she may
attain to peaceful longevity; a long journey in the heat being
evidently undesirable, we have fixed on the 19th day of the 7th
Moon to commence our return journey, and are now preparing to
escort Her Majesty, viâ Honan.”
One of the most notorious Boxer leaders, namely, Duke Kung, the younger
brother of Prince Chuang, had accompanied the Court, with his family, to
Hsi-an. The Old Buddha, realising that his presence would undoubtedly
compromise her, now decided to send him away. His family fell from one
state of misery to another; no assistance was rendered to them by any
officials on the journey, and eventually, after much wandering, the
Duke was compelled to earn a bare living by serving as a subordinate in
a small Yamên, while his wife, who was young and comely, was sold into
slavery. It was clear that the Old Buddha had now realised the error
of her ways and the folly that had been committed in encouraging the
Boxers. After the executions and suicides of the proscribed leaders of
the movement she was heard on one occasion to remark: “These Princes and
Ministers were wont to bluster and boast, relying upon their near kinship
to ourselves, and we foolishly believed them when they assured us that
the foreign devils would never get the better of China. In their folly
they came within an ace of overthrowing our Dynasty. The only one whose
fate I regret is Chao Shu-ch’iao. For him I am truly sorry.”
The fate of Prince Chuang’s brother showed clearly that both officials
and people had realised the genuine change in the Empress Dowager’s
feelings towards the Boxers, for there was none so poor to do him honour.
Both on the journey to Hsi-an fu and on the return to the Capital, Her
Majesty displayed the greatest interest in the lives of the peasantry and
the condition of the people generally. She subscribed liberally to the
famine fund in Shansi, professing the greatest sympathy for the stricken
people. She told the Emperor that she had never appreciated their
sufferings in the seclusion of her Palace.
During the Court’s stay at Hsi-an fu the Emperor came to take more
interest in State affairs than he had done at any time since the _coup
d’état_, but although the Old Buddha discussed matters with him freely,
and took his opinion, he had no real voice in the decision of any
important matter. His temper continued to be uncertain and occasionally
violent, so that many high officials of the Court preferred always to
take their business to the Empress Dowager. One important appointment was
made at this time by the Old Buddha at the Emperor’s personal request,
viz., that of Sun Chia-nai (ex-Imperial tutor) to the Grand Secretariat.
This official had resigned office in January 1900 upon the selection of
the Heir Apparent, which he regarded as equivalent to the deposition of
the Emperor.[108] Subsequently, throughout the Boxer troubles, he had
remained in his house at Peking, which was plundered, and he himself
would undoubtedly have been killed, but for the protection given him by
Jung Lu. At this time also, Lu Ch’uan-lin joined the Grand Council. When
the siege of the Legations began, he had left his post as Governor of
Kiangsu, and marched north with some three thousand men to defend Peking
against the foreigners. Before he reached the Capital, however, it had
fallen, so that, after disbanding his troops, he went for a few weeks
to his native place in Chihli, and thence proceeded to join the Court
at T’ai-yüan fu, where the Old Buddha received him most cordially. His
case is particularly interesting in that he was until his death a member
of the Grand Council,[109] and that, like many other high officials at
Peking, his ideas of the art of government and the relative position
of China in the world, remained exactly as they were before the Boxer
movement. His action in proceeding to Peking with his troops from his
post in the south is also interesting, as showing the semi-independent
position of provincial officials, and the free hand which any man of
strong views may claim and enjoy. The Viceroys of Nanking and Wuch’ang
might dare to oppose the wishes of the Empress Dowager, and to exercise
their own judgment as regards declaring war upon foreigners, but it was
equally open to any of their subordinates to differ from them, and to
take such steps as they might personally consider proper, even to the
movement of troops.
An official, one of the many provincial deputies charged with the
carrying of tribute to the Court at Hsi-an, returning thence to his
post at Soochow, sent to a friend at Peking a detailed description of
the life of the Court in exile, from which the following extracts are
taken. The document, being at that time confidential and not intended
for publication, throws some light on the Court and its doings which is
lacking in official documents:—
“The Empress Dowager is still in sole charge of affairs, and
controls everything in and around the Court; those who exercise
the most influence with her are Jung Lu and Lu Ch’uan-lin.
Governor Ts’en, has fallen into disfavour of late. His
Majesty’s advisers are most anxious that she should return to
Peking. She looks very young and well; one would not put her
age at more than forty, whereas she is really sixty-four. The
Emperor appears to be generally depressed, but he has been
putting on flesh lately. The Heir Apparent is fifteen years
of age; fat, coarse-featured, and of rude manners. He favours
military habits of deportment and dress, and to see him when
he goes to the play, wearing a felt cap with gold braid, a
leather jerkin, and a red military overcoat, one would take him
for a prize-fighter. He knows all the young actors and rowdies,
and associates generally with the very lowest classes. He is
a good rider, however, and a very fair musician. If, at the
play-houses, the music goes wrong, he will frequently get up
in his place and rebuke the performer, and at times he even
jumps on to the stage, possesses himself of the instrument, and
plays the piece himself. All this brings the boy into disrepute
with respectable people, and some of his pranks have come to
the ears of the Old Buddha, who they say has had him severely
whipped. His last offence was to commence an intrigue with one
of the ladies-in-waiting on Her Majesty, for which he got into
serious trouble. He is much in the company of Li Lien-ying (the
chief eunuch), who leads him into the wildest dissipation.[110]
My friend Kao, speaking of him the other day, wittily said,
that ‘from being an expectant Emperor, he would soon become
a deposed Heir Apparent’; which is quite true, for he never
reads, all his tastes are vicious, and his manners rude and
overbearing. To give you an instance of his doings: on the 18th
of the 10th Moon, accompanied by his brother and by his uncle,
the Boxer Duke Lan, and followed by a crowd of eunuchs, he got
mixed up in a fight with some Kansu braves at a theatre in the
temple of the City God. The eunuchs got the worst of it, and
some minor officials who were in the audience were mauled by
the crowd. The trouble arose, in the first instance, because of
the eunuchs attempting to claim the best seats in the house,
and the sequel shows to what lengths of villainy these fellows
will descend, and how great is their influence with the highest
officials. The eunuchs were afraid to seek revenge on the Kansu
troops direct, but they attained their end by denouncing the
manager of the theatre to Governor Ts’en, and by inducing him
to close every theatre in Hsi-an. Besides which, the theatre
manager was put in a wooden collar, and thus ignominiously
paraded through the streets of the city. The Governor was
induced to take this action on the ground that Her Majesty,
sore distressed at the famine in Shansi and the calamities
which have overtaken China, was offended at these exhibitions
of unseemly gaiety; and the proclamation which closed the
play-houses, ordered also that restaurants and other places of
public entertainment should suspend business. Everybody in the
city knew that this was the work of the eunuchs. Eventually Chi
Lu, Chamberlain of the Household, was able to induce the chief
eunuch to ask the Old Buddha to give orders that the theatres
be reopened. This was accordingly done, but of course the real
reason was not given, and the Proclamation stated that, since
the recent fall of snow justified hopes of a prosperous year
and good harvests, as a mark of the people’s gratitude to
Providence, the theatres would be reopened as usual, ‘but no
more disturbances must occur.’
“The chief eunuch does not seem to be abusing his authority as
much as usual at Hsi-an, most of his time and attention being
given to the collection and safe keeping of tribute. If the
quality and quantity received is not up to his expectations, he
will decline to accept it, and thus infinite trouble is caused
to the officials of the province concerned.
“A few days before the Old Buddha’s sixty-fifth birthday in
the 10th Moon, Governor Ts’en proposed that the city should
be decorated, and the usual costly gifts should be presented
to Her Majesty, but to this proposal Prince P’u Tung took the
strongest exception; ‘China is in desperate straits,’ he said,
‘and even the ancestral shrines and birthplaces of the Dynasty
are in the hands of foreign troops. How then could the Old
Buddha possibly desire to celebrate her birthday? The thing is
impossible.’ The matter was therefore allowed to drop. But the
Governor is certainly most anxious to make a name for himself,
and, in spite of his blustering professions of an independent
attitude, he does not disdain to curry favour with the chief
eunuch and others who can serve him. They say that he has
recently sworn ‘blood brotherhood’ with Hsin, the eunuch whose
duty it is to announce officials at audiences. No doubt it is
due to this distinguished connection that he has recently been
raised to the rank of a Board President, and therefore entitled
to ride in a sedan chair within the precincts of the Court,
which, no doubt, he considers more dignified than riding in a
cart.[111]
“Tung Fu-hsiang has returned to his home in Kansu, but his
troops remain still at Hsi-an under the command of General
Teng, who so greatly distinguished himself in the Mahomedan
rebellion.
“It would seem that the Old Buddha still cherishes hopes of
defeating the foreigners, for she is particularly delighted by
a Memorial which has been sent in lately by Hsia Chen-wu, in
which he recommends a certain aboriginal tribesman (‘Man-tzu’)
as a man of remarkable strategic ability. He offers to lose his
own head and those of all his family, should this Heaven-sent
warrior fail to defeat all the troops of the Allies in one
final engagement, and he begs that the Emperor may permit this
man to display his powers and thus save the Empire.”
XXI
HOW THE BOXER LEADERS DIED
China’s officials may be said to be a class of individualists, incapable,
as a rule, of collective heroism or any sustained effort of organised
patriotism; but it is one of the remarkable features and results of her
system of philosophy that the mandarins, even those who have been known
publicly to display physical cowardice at critical moments, will usually
accept sentence of death at the hands of their Sovereign with perfect
equanimity, and meet it with calm philosophic resignation. The manner in
which the Boxer leaders died, who were proscribed in the course of the
negotiations for the peace Protocol at Peking, affords an interesting
illustration of this fact; incidentally it throws light also on a trait
in the Chinese character, which to some extent explains the solidity and
permanence of its system of government, based as it is on the principle
of absolute obedience and loyalty to the head of the State as one of the
cardinal Confucian virtues.
Despite the repeated and unswerving demands of the foreign Powers
that the death penalty should be inflicted upon the chief leaders
and supporters of the Boxers, the Empress Dowager was naturally loth
to yield, inasmuch as she herself had been in full sympathy with the
movement. It was only after many and prolonged meetings with her chief
advisers, and when she realised that in this course lay her only hope
of obtaining satisfactory terms of peace, that she finally and most
reluctantly consented, in February 1901, to the issue of a Decree
(drafted by Jung Lu) in which she abandoned to their fate those who,
with her full knowledge and approval, had led the rising which was to
drive all foreigners into the sea. With the knowledge in our possession
as to Her Majesty’s complicity, and in some cases her initiative, in
the anti-foreign movement, it is impossible to read this Decree without
realising something of the ruthlessness of the woman and her cynical
disregard of everything except her own safety and authority. Even so,
however, Tzŭ Hsi could not bring herself at first to comply with all
the demands of the Powers, evidently hoping by compromise and further
negotiations to save the lives of her favourites, Prince Tuan, Duke Lan
and Chao Shu-ch’iao. The Decree, issued in the Emperor’s name, was as
follows:—
“In the summer of last year, the Boxer Rebellion arose, which
brought in its train hostilities with friendly Powers. Prince
Ch’ing and Li Hung-chang have now definitely settled the
preliminary conditions of the Peace Protocol. Reflecting on the
causes of this disaster, we cannot escape the conclusion that
it was due to the ignorance and arrogance of certain of our
Princes and Ministers of State who, foolishly believing in the
alleged supernatural power of the Boxers, were led to disobey
the Throne and to disregard our express commands that these
rebels should be exterminated. Not only did they not do this,
but they encouraged and assisted them to such an extent that
the movement gained hosts of followers. The latter committed
acts of unprovoked hostility, so that matters reached a pass
where a general cataclysm became inevitable. It was by reason
of the folly of these men that General Tung, that obstinate
braggart, dared to bombard the Legations, thus bringing our
Dynasty to the brink of the greatest peril, throwing the State
into a general convulsion of disorder, and plunging our people
into uttermost misery. The dangers which have been incurred
by Her Majesty the Empress Dowager, and myself are simply
indescribable, and our hearts are sore, aching with unappeased
wrath at the remembrance of our sufferings. Let those who
brought about these calamities ask themselves what punishment
can suffice to atone for them?
“Our former Decrees on this subject have been far too lenient,
and we must therefore now award further punishments to the
guilty. Prince Chuang, already cashiered, led the Boxers in
their attack upon the French Cathedral and the Legations,
besides which, it was he who issued a Proclamation in violation
of all our Treaties. (This refers to the rewards offered
for the heads of foreigners.) He too it was who, acting as
the leader of the savage Boxers, put to death many innocent
persons. As a mark of clemency unmerited by these crimes, we
grant him permission to commit suicide, and hereby order that
Ko Pao-hua shall supervise the execution of these our commands.
“Prince Tuan, already cashiered, was the leader and spokesman
of the Imperial Clan, to whom was due the declaration of war
against foreigners; he trusted implicitly in Boxer magic, and
thus inexcusably brought about hostilities. Duke Lan, who
assisted Prince Chuang in drawing up the proclamation which set
a price on the head of every foreigner, deserves also that he
be stripped of all his dignities and titles. But remembering
that both these Princes are our near kinsmen, we mitigate
their sentence to exile to Turkestan, where they will be kept
in perpetual confinement. The Governor of Shensi, Yü Hsien,
already cashiered, believed in the Boxers at the time when he
held the Governorship of Shantung; when he subsequently came
to Peking, he sang their praises at our Court, with the result
that many Princes and Ministers were led astray by his words.
As Governor of Shansi he had put to death many missionaries and
native converts, proving himself to be an utterly misguided and
bloodthirsty man. He was undoubtedly one of the prime causes
of all our troubles. We have already decreed his banishment
to Turkestan, and by this time he should already have reached
Kansu. Orders are now to be transmitted for his immediate
decapitation, which will be superintended by the Provincial
Treasurer.
“As to the late Grand Secretary, Kang Yi, he also believed in
the Boxers, and went so far as to set a price on the lives
of foreigners so that, had he lived, he too would have been
sentenced to death, but as matters stand, we order that he be
posthumously deprived of his rank and summarily cashiered.
“We have already cashiered Tung Fu-hsiang. While permitted to
retain his rank as a military official, he cannot escape a
certain share of responsibility for the siege of the Legations,
although his orders emanated from Princes and Ministers of
State; and because of his ignorance of foreign affairs, slack
discipline, and general stupidity, he certainly deserves severe
punishment. But we cannot overlook the services he has rendered
in the Kansu rebellion, and the good name which he bears
amongst our Chinese and Mahomedan subjects in that province, so
that, as a mark of our favour and leniency, we merely remove
him from his post.[112]
“Ying Nien, Vice-President of the Censorate, was opposed
to the issue of the proclamation which offered rewards for
foreigners’ heads, and for this he deserves lenient treatment,
but he failed to insist strongly in his objections, and we are
therefore compelled to punish him. He is hereby sentenced to be
cashiered and imprisoned pending decapitation.[113]
“As regards the Grand Councillor Chao Shu-ch’iao, he had never,
to our knowledge, shown any hostility to foreigners, and when
we despatched him on a special mission to confer with the
Boxers, the report which he submitted on his return showed no
signs of sympathy with their proceedings.[114] Nevertheless,
he was undoubtedly careless, and we therefore, acting in
leniency, decree that he be cashiered and imprisoned pending
decapitation.[115]
“The Grand Secretary Hsü T’ung and Li Ping-heng, our Assistant
Commander-in-Chief, have both committed suicide, but as their
behaviour has been very severely criticised, we order that they
be deprived of their ranks; and all posthumous honours granted
to them are hereby cancelled.
“The Ministers of the friendly Powers can no longer fail to
recognise that the Boxer Rebellion was indeed the work of these
guilty officials, and that it was in no way due to any action
or wishes on the part of the Throne. In the punishment of these
offenders we have displayed no leniency, from which all our
subjects may learn how grave has been the recent crisis.”
As the terms of this Decree still failed to satisfy the foreign
Ministers, especially as regards the sentences passed on Prince Tuan and
Duke Lan, another Decree, a week later, ordered that both these Manchu
leaders should be imprisoned pending decapitation, a sentence which
was eventually reduced to one of perpetual banishment to Turkestan.
Posthumous decapitation, a grievous disgrace in the eyes of Chinese
officials, was decreed as a further punishment upon Kang Yi, while Chao
Shu-ch’iao and Ying Nien were ordered to commit suicide. Finally, the
Grand Councillor Ch’i Hsiu, and a son of the Grand Secretary Hsü T’ung
(who had closely followed in his father’s footsteps as the most violent
opponent of everything foreign), were sentenced to decapitation, and were
duly executed at Peking.
In compliance with the last demands of the Foreign Ministers, a final
Decree, the wording of which points clearly to reluctant action under
compulsion, restored the ranks and honours of the five officials who had
been executed for advising Her Majesty against the Boxers. To revise
this sentence without leaving them under some imputation of blame would
have involved most undesirable loss of “face,” and the Decree therefore
observes:—
“When we urged these officials, at a general audience of all
our Ministers, to state their views definitely, so that we
might judge fairly of the issues, they expressed themselves
hesitatingly, and our evil-disposed Princes and advisers were
thus able to take advantage of their apparent indecision.
This was the cause of their undoing. They were impeached on
all sides, and were eventually decapitated. We recall to mind
the fact that these five officials always showed considerable
ability in handling diplomatic questions, and, as a mark of our
favour, we therefore restore to them their original rank.”
_The Death of Chao Shu-ch’iao._—This Grand Councillor, one of the
Empress’s favourite Ministers, whom to the last she endeavoured to
protect from execution, was originally sentenced only to imprisonment for
life. He was confined in the prison of the Provincial Judge at Hsi-an,
where his family were allowed to visit him. On the day before the issue
of the Decree which sentenced him to imprisonment, the Old Buddha had
said, at a meeting of the Grand Council, “I do not really believe that
Chao sympathised in the very least with the Boxers; the error that he
made lay in under-estimating the seriousness of the movement.” This was
reported to Chao, who was naturally much elated, and believed that his
life would surely be spared. A few days later, however, it was freely
rumoured that the foreign Powers were insisting upon his decapitation,
and the news created the greatest excitement throughout the city, which
was his native place. Some three hundred of the chief men of the city
having drawn up a monster petition, proceeded with it to the office
of the Grand Council, and begged, in the name of the whole community,
that his life be spared. The Grand Councillors were afraid to take the
petition to Her Majesty, but, in reply to the deputation, the President
of the Board of Punishments (who was related to Chao) declared that his
execution would be an act of monstrous injustice.
On the first day of the New Year, these rumours took more definite shape,
and on that day Her Majesty’s audience with the Grand Council lasted
from six to eleven in the morning; but even then no decision had been
come to in regard to complying with the demand for Chao’s execution.
Throughout the neighbourhood of the Drum Tower the streets were packed
with a huge crowd, who threatened that they would certainly rescue Chao
if he were taken out for execution. So great was the clamour that the
Grand Council feared a riot, and they determined, therefore, to beg Her
Majesty to permit Chao to commit suicide. This was done, and Tzŭ Hsi
reluctantly agreeing, issued the Decree at one o’clock on the following
morning, which fixed the hour for reporting his death to Her Majesty at
five o’clock in the afternoon of the same day. Governor Ts’en was ordered
to proceed to the prison, and read the Decree to Chao, which he did in
due form. After hearing it in silence to the end, Chao asked: “Will
there be no further Decree?” “No,” said Ts’en. “Surely, there must be,”
said Chao. At this his wife, intervening, said, “There is no hope; let
us die together!” She then gave him poison, of which he took a little,
but up till 3 P.M. it appeared to have had no effect whatsoever, for he
seemed most vigorous, and discussed at great length with his family the
arrangements to be made for his funeral. He was much exercised in mind
at the effect which his death would have upon the health of his aged
mother. All day long his room was crowded by friends and colleagues;
the Governor had endeavoured at first to prevent their coming, but had
eventually yielded, so that the number of those present was very large.
Chao, addressing them, said: “I have been brought to this pass entirely
by the fault of Kang Yi.” The Governor, observing that his voice sounded
clear and firm, and that, at this hour, there were no signs of impending
death about him, ordered one of the attendants to give him some opium
to swallow. At 5 o’clock, the opium having apparently taken no effect,
the attendants were ordered to give him a liberal dose of arsenic, after
which he rolled over on to the ground, and lay there, groaning and
beating his breast with his hands. Later, complaining of extreme pain,
he asked that friction might be applied to his chest, but so strong was
his constitution, and so determined his will, that even at 11 o’clock
it was evident that there was still no little life left in him. The
Governor was much disturbed and distressed, being well aware that the Old
Buddha would require some adequate explanation of this long delay in the
execution of her orders. “I was to report his death at 5 o’clock,” said
he, “the man will not die: what is to be done?” The attendants suggested
that he should screw up some pieces of thick paper, dip them in strong
spirit, and with them close the breathing passages; by this means he
would be speedily suffocated. Ts’en approved of the suggestion, and after
five wads of paper had been inserted, death ensued. His wife, weeping
bitterly, thereupon committed suicide. To the end, Chao could not believe
that the Empress Dowager would allow his death, and for this reason it is
probable that he purposely took an insufficient dose of opium in order to
gain time for a reprieve.
_The Death of Prince Chuang._—Prince Chuang, with his concubine and
son, went to Tu Chou, in South Shansi, there to await the decision of
the Empress Dowager as to his fate. He lodged in an official house of
entertainment. When Ko Pao-hua, the Imperial Commissioner, brought
thither the Decree commanding him to commit suicide, it was early in
the morning; nevertheless, upon his arrival, crackers were fired, in
accordance with etiquette, to greet him. The noise greatly irritated
Prince Chuang, who turned savagely upon the attendants, and asked
what they meant by making such a noise at such an hour. “An Imperial
Commissioner has arrived,” they said. “Has he come about me?” asked the
Prince. “No,” they replied, “he is merely passing through on business.”
When the Imperial Commissioner was ushered in, the Prince began to ply
him with questions about the Court, to which Ko briefly replied. After
talking for a little while Ko went off to inspect the premises, at the
back of which he found an old temple, in which he selected an unoccupied
room to be the scene of Prince Chuang’s suicide. From a beam in the roof
he hung a silken cord, and, after fastening it securely, he directed
the Prefect and the District Magistrate to send some soldiers to keep
order. Having made these preparations he returned to the presence of
the Prince, and informing him that he had an Imperial Decree to read to
him, ordered him to go down on his knees to hear it. The Prince, drawing
himself up to his full height, said, “Is it my head that you want?” The
Imperial Commissioner made no direct reply, but proceeded to read the
Decree to the Prince, who reverently knelt.[116] When the Commissioner
had finished, “So it is suicide,” said the Prince, “I always expected
they would not be content with anything less than my life. I greatly
fear that even our Old Buddha will not be allowed to last much longer.”
He next asked the Imperial Commissioner to be permitted to bid farewell
to his family, which was allowed him. At this moment, his concubine
and his son, having learned of the Imperial Commissioner’s business,
entered the room. The Prince, addressing his son, said:—“Remember that
it is your duty to do everything in your power for your country; at all
costs, these foreigners must not be allowed to possess themselves of the
glorious Empire won for us by our ancestors.”[117] His son, bitterly
weeping, could not reply, while his concubine passed from frantic grief
to a swoon. The Prince, unmoved, asked:—“Where is the death chamber?”
The Imperial Commissioner replied:—“Will your Highness please to come
to the empty room at the back of the house.” When the Prince, following
him, saw the silken cord hanging from the beam, he turned and said:—“Your
Excellency has indeed made most admirable and complete arrangements.”
With these words he passed the cord around his neck, and in a very few
minutes life was extinct.
_The Death of Ying Nien._—Ying Nien was an arrant coward. On the day of
the issue of the first Decree, ordering his imprisonment at Hsi-an, his
family deserted him, and he remained all through the night, weeping, in
great distress of mind. To his attendants he complained bitterly that
Prince Ch’ing had not intervened to protect him. The next day was the
New Year Festival, and as everybody was busy with preparations for the
occasion, little heed was paid to him, and he spent the day weeping.
Towards midnight his crying suddenly ceased, and on the following morning
he was found by his servant, prone upon the ground, his face covered
with mud, quite dead. He had choked himself by swallowing mud, but as
the Decree ordering him to commit suicide had not actually been issued,
the fact of his death was suppressed for forty-eight hours, after which
Governor Ts’en was informed, and he reported it to the Old Buddha.
_The Decapitation of Yü Hsien._—When the Decree, commanding his
decapitation, reached Yü Hsien, he had already started under escort for
his place of banishment, but he was a sick man and could only totter
weakly along. On learning the news, he appeared as one dazed, a very
different man indeed from that fierce Governor of Shansi, who had
displayed such bloodthirsty activity. On the day before his death he
was very seriously ill, and when the time came, he was so weak that he
had to be supported to the execution ground. On the previous day the
leading citizens of Lan-chou fu expressed their desire to offer him a
valedictory banquet, but he declined the honour with thanks, expressing
his wish to spend his last day in quietude. He wrote a pair of scrolls as
an expression of his gratitude for the courtesy thus shown to him, and
the elders of the city decided and informed him that the execution ground
would be decorated with red cloth, as for a festival, in his honour.
Towards evening, notices were placarded in the principal streets, calling
on the people to insist upon his being reprieved, but Yü Hsien knew that
this was quite useless. He composed a statement of his actions in the
form of an official proclamation, maintaining stoutly that his death was
to be regarded as a glorious and patriotic end, and bidding the people
on no account to interfere with the execution of his sentence. Finally
he wrote, with his own hand, a pair of valedictory scrolls, the text of
which was widely quoted after his death all over China. The first may be
translated as follows:—
“The Minister dies for his Sovereign; wives and concubines die
for their lord. Who shall say that this is unseemly? It is
sad that my aged mother is ninety years of age, and my little
daughter only seven. Who shall protect them in their old age
and tender youth? How shall that filial piety be fulfilled
which a man owes to his parent? The Sovereign commanded, and
the Minister obeyed. I slew others; now, in my turn, am I
slain. Why should I regret it? Only one cause for shame have
I—that I have served my Sovereign all these years, and have
held high rank in three provinces, without displaying merit
more conspicuous than a grain of sand in the desert or a drop
of water in the ocean. Alas, that I should thus unworthily
requite the Imperial bounty.”
And the second reads:—
“The Minister has by his guilt incurred the sentence of
decapitation. At this moment there is no thought in my mind
except the hope that my death may be as glorious as my life has
been honest.[118] I would far rather die than pine away the
rest of my life in degrading imprisonment. I have ill-requited
Her Majesty’s kindness. Who shall now relieve her grief? I
sincerely hope that you, the Statesmen who surround the Throne,
may yet find means to restore our fallen fortunes, and that you
will honourably fulfil your bounden duty in ministering to the
distress of their Imperial Majesties.”
On the following day, at one o’clock of the afternoon, Yü Hsien’s head
was severed from his body, in the presence of a great crowd, which
greeted his end with sounds of lamentation.
_The Death of Ch’i Hsiu._—Ch’i Hsin was executed, together with Hsü
Ching-yu, outside the wall of the Tartar city, in Peking, early one
morning in February, 1901, the execution being witnessed by more than one
European. When informed that he was to die, Ch’i Hsiu’s only question
was: “By whose commands?” and when told that a Decree had come from
Hsi-an fu, he said, “It is by the will of the Empress Dowager; I die
happy then, so long as it is not by order of the foreigners.” This Grand
Councillor had been arrested several months before by the Japanese, and
Prince Ch’ing had been able to obtain his release on the ground that his
aged mother was very ill; but when she subsequently died, he strongly
advised Ch’i Hsiu “to make his filial piety coincide with his loyalty by
committing suicide.” Coming from Prince Ch’ing, the suggestion was one
hardly to be misunderstood, but Ch’i Hsiu failed to act upon it, thereby
incurring a certain amount of criticism.
XXII
THE OLD BUDDHA PENITENT
When the wrath of the Powers had been appeased by the death and
banishment of the leading Boxers, and when the Empress Dowager had come
to realise that her future policy must be one of conciliation and reform,
she proceeded first of all to adjust the annals of her reign for the
benefit of posterity, in the following remarkable Edict (13th February,
1901):—
“In the summer of last year, the Boxers, after bringing about
a state of war, took possession of our Capital and dominated
the very Throne itself. The Decrees issued at that time were
the work of wicked Princes and Ministers of State, who, taking
advantage of the chaotic condition of affairs, did not hesitate
to issue documents under the Imperial seal, which were quite
contrary to our wishes. We have on more than one previous
occasion hinted indirectly at the extraordinary difficulty of
the position in which we were placed, and which left us no
alternative but to act as we did. Our officials and subjects
should have no difficulty in reading between the lines and
appreciating our meaning.
“We have now punished all the guilty, and we hereby order that
the Grand Secretariat shall submit for our perusal all Decrees
issued between the 24th day of the 5th moon and the 20th day of
the 7th moon (20th June to 14th August), so that all spurious
or illegal documents may be withdrawn and cancelled. Thus shall
historical accuracy be attained and our Imperial utterances
receive the respect to which they are properly entitled.”
Having thus secured the respect of posterity, Tzŭ Hsi proceeded to make
the “amende honorable,” (with due regard to the Imperial “face,”) for so
many of her sins as she was prepared to admit. In another Decree, in the
name of the Emperor, which gives a Munchausen account of the Throne’s
part and lot in the crisis of 1900, and a pathetic description of her
own and the Emperor’s sufferings during the flight, she makes solemn
confession of error and promise of reform. As an example of the manner in
which history is made in China, the Edict is of permanent interest and
value.
“A PENITENTIAL DECREE
“_26th day, 12th moon of Kuang-Hsü’s 26th year_ (_Feb. 13th,
1901_).
“Last summer the Boxers sowed the seeds of rebellion, which
led to our being involved in a war with friendly Powers.
Thereafter, our Capital being thrown into a state of great
disorder, we escorted the Empress Dowager, our mother, on a
progress of inspection throughout the Western Provinces. To
Prince Ch’ing and to the Grand Secretary Li Hung-chang we
entrusted full powers, and bade them negotiate with the foreign
Ministers for the cessation of hostilities and a Treaty of
peace. These Plenipotentiaries having lately telegraphed to us
the twelve principal clauses of the proposed protocol, we have
consented thereto, but at the same time have instructed them
carefully to scrutinise their various provisions in the light
of China’s ability to fulfil them.
“It having been accorded to us to retrieve our disastrous
mistakes, we are in duty bound to promulgate this Penitential
Decree, and to let every one of our subjects know how vast and
harassing were the perplexities with which the Throne has been
beset.
“There are ignorant persons who believe that the recent crisis
was partly caused by our government’s support of the Boxers;
they must have overlooked our reiterated Decrees of the 5th and
6th moons, that the Boxers should be exterminated, and the
Christians protected. Unfortunately these rebels and their evil
associates placed us in a position from which it was impossible
to escape; we exhausted every possible effort of strong
remonstrance, appalled at the impending ruin of our Empire.
Events moved swiftly until, on the 21st of the 7th moon, our
Capital fell; on that day, both Her Majesty the Empress Dowager
and ourselves decided to commit suicide in the presence of the
tutelary deities of our Dynasty and the gods of the soil, thus
making atonement and offering propitiation to the spirits of
our nine Imperial ancestors. But, at the critical moment of
dire lamentation and confusion, we were seized by our Princes
and Ministers, and forcibly led away from that place where
bullets fell like rain, and where the enemies’ guns gathered
thick as forest trees. Hastily, and with souls perturbed, we
started on our Western tour. Were not all these disasters
caused by the Boxers? The imminent danger of her sacred
Majesty, the overwhelming ruin of our ancestors’ inheritance,
our prosperous Capital turned to a howling wilderness, its
ravines filled with the dead bodies of our greatest men: how
can it possibly be said that the Throne could protect the
rebels who brought such disasters upon us?
“There was, however, an explicable cause for the Boxer movement
and for its disastrous results.” (_The Decree proceeds here
to ascribe blame to local Magistrates for not administering
even justice between Christians and non-Christians, and thus
producing a state of discontent and unrest, which afforded
opportunities to the Boxers. The latter received a further
impetus by reason of the inefficiency of the Imperial troops
sent to quell the first rising. Finally, references are made to
the evil advice and ignorance of the highly placed clansmen and
Ministers of State who favoured the Boxer cause. This Decree
is in fact a complete justification of the views expressed in
the three memorials by Yüan Ch’ang and Hsü Ching-ch’eng, for
which these patriotic officials laid down their lives. After
describing the entry of the Boxers into Peking, and lamenting
the position of the Throne as resembling “a tail which is too
big to wag,” the Decree proceeds_):—“Nevertheless, and while
the Legations were being besieged, we repeatedly directed our
Ministers of the Tsungli Yamên to put a stop to hostilities,
and at the same time to keep up communication with the foreign
Ministers, assuring them of our kindly and sympathetic regard.
This latter order, however, was not carried out because of
the continuous artillery and rifle fire between the besiegers
and the besieged, and it was impossible for us, under such
conditions, to insist upon its execution. Supposing, by some
horrible fatality, the Legations had actually fallen, how
could China have hoped to preserve her integrity? To the
Throne’s strenuous efforts is really due the avoidance of
such a dreadful catastrophe, and the gifts of wine, fruit and
water-melons to the besieged Legations, were an indication
of Her Majesty’s benevolent intentions. It was but natural
and right that the friendly Powers should appreciate these
our feelings, and the fact that at such a crisis they have
respected the integrity of our Empire as a Sovereign State,
goes to prove that the Allies attribute no longer any blame
to the Throne. This, however, only adds to our wrath at the
ignorance and violence of our offending subjects; when we look
back upon the past, we are filled with shame and indignation.
We are convinced that, in these peace negotiations, the
foreign Powers will not attempt to extract from us more than
we are able to concede. We have ordered Prince Ch’ing and Li
Hung-chang, negotiating this Treaty, to continue patiently
in friendly discussion, maintaining all questions of vital
principle, while recognising the special circumstances which
attach to any given case. Foreign Powers are lovers of justice,
and they are bound to consider what China is capable of doing
if they wish to see this negotiation brought to a successful
conclusion. To this end we expect that our Plenipotentiaries
will display their virtue of patriotism to the very best of
their ability.
“At the time of the terror in Peking, our provincial
authorities were ordered to keep the peace in their respective
provinces, and to take no part in provoking hostilities.
If the Southern and Eastern parts of our Empire enjoyed
full protection from disorders, the fact was solely due to
our Decrees, which insisted upon the rigid maintenance of
peace. The trade of foreign Powers was in no way injured,
our Viceroys and Governors being able to preserve normal
conditions in those parts of our Empire. As regards the
Southern provinces, however, which are always talking loudly of
strengthening their defences, it cannot be gainsaid that, upon
the outbreak of any trouble, they fall into a state of hopeless
confusion. Caring nothing for the innumerable difficulties
which beset our Throne, they stand idly by, contenting
themselves with delivering oracular opinions and catch-words,
and they even go so far as to reproach their Sovereign, the
father of his people. We would have them bear in mind that
when our Imperial chariot departed in haste from the Forbidden
City, the moaning of the wind and the cry of the heron overhead
seemed to our startled ears as the tramp of an advancing enemy.
As we fled through Ch’ang-ping chou northward to Hsüan-hua,
we personally attended on the wants of the Empress Dowager.
We were both clad in the meanest of garments, and to relieve
our hunger we were scarcely able to obtain a dish of beans or
porridge. Few of our poorest subjects have suffered greater
hardships of cold and hunger than befell us in this pitiful
plight. We wonder whether those who call themselves our
faithful Ministers and servants have ever taken real thought
of their bounden duty towards their afflicted and outraged
Sovereigns?
“To sum up the matter in a word, is it not the case that, when
either our Statesmen or our people are guilty of any offence,
it is upon our Imperial persons that the blame must fall?
In recalling this fact to mind, we do not desire to rake up
bygone offences, but rather because it is our duty to warn our
subjects against their repetition. For the past twenty years,
whenever difficulties have arisen with foreign nations, it has
been our duty to issue solemn warnings and reproofs. But the
saying which is in common use, that we ‘sleep on brushwood and
taste gall’ has, by lapse of time, become almost meaningless;
when we talk of putting our house in order, and reforming
our finances, the words have no real significance. The time
of danger once over, favouritism and the neglect of public
business go on as of old; as of old, money purchases rank,
and the Throne continues to be persistently misled. Let our
officials ask themselves in the silence of the night watches
whether, even had there been no Boxer rebellion, China could
possibly have become a great Power? Even before these disasters
occurred there was great difficulty in maintaining our position
as a nation, and now, after this awful visitation, it must
be obvious to the dullest amongst us that our weakness and
poverty have been greatly increased. To our Ministers of State,
who have received high favour from the Throne, we would say
that, at this time of our nation’s history, it is essential to
display new qualities of integrity and patriotism. Taxation
should now be re-arranged in such a manner as to enable us
to repay the foreign indemnities, while bearing in mind the
poverty of the lower classes of the people. In the selection
of officials, good character should be considered the first
essential, and men of talent should be encouraged to the utmost.
“The whole duty of a Minister of State may be summed up in two
words: to abolish corrupt tendencies, and to put off the abuses
of former days. Justice and energy should be the principles
guiding towards economical and military efficiency; on this the
spirit of the nation and its future depend as upon its very
life blood.
“For nearly thirty years our mother, the Empress Dowager, has
laboured without ceasing to instruct us and train us in the
right way, and now, at one blow, all the results of her labour
are brought to nought. We cannot but remember the abomination
of desecration which has overthrown our ancestral shrines and
the temples of our gods. Looking to the North, we think upon
our Capital ruined and profaned, upon the thousands of our
highest officials whose families have lost their all, of the
millions of our subjects whose lives and property have been
sacrificed in this cataclysm. We can never cease to reproach
ourselves: how then should we reproach others? Our object in
issuing this solemn warning is to show that the prosperity or
the ruin of a State depends solely upon the energy or apathy
of its rulers and people, and that the weakness of an Empire
is the direct result of rottenness in its administration. We
desire to reiterate our commands that friendly relations with
foreign Powers are to be encouraged, that at the same time our
defences are to be strengthened, that freedom of speech and
the employment of trustworthy servants are to be encouraged. We
expect obedience to these commands, and sincere patriotism from
our subjects. Earnestly the Empress Dowager and ourselves pray
that it may be brought home to our Ministers of State, that
only out of suffering is wisdom developed, and that a sense of
duty insists upon unceasing effort. Let this Decree be made
known throughout the entire Empire.”
This Edict was issued in February, coincidently with Her Majesty’s
acceptance of the conditions imposed by the Powers in the peace
negotiations at Peking. From that date until, in June, the terms of the
Protocol were definitely settled by the plenipotentiaries, her attitude
continued to be one of nervous apprehension, while the discomfort of life
at Hsi-an, as well as the advice repeatedly given her by Jung Lu and the
provincial Viceroys, combined to make her look forward with impatience to
the day when she might set out for her capital.
There remained only one source of difficulty, namely, the presence
of Prince Tuan’s son, the Heir Apparent, at her Court. Tzŭ Hsi was
well aware that she could hardly look for cordial relations with the
representatives of the Powers at Peking, or for sympathy abroad, so
long as this son of the Boxer chief remained heir to the Throne. It
would clearly be impossible, in the event of his becoming Emperor, for
him to consent to his father remaining under sentence of banishment,
and equally impossible to expect the Powers to consent to Prince Tuan’s
rehabilitation and return. Yet the youth had been duly and solemnly
appointed to succeed to the Throne, a thing not lightly to be set aside.
Once again the Old Buddha showed that the sacred laws of succession were
less than a strong woman’s will.
Politics apart, it was common knowledge that Tzŭ Hsi had for some time
repented of her choice of Prince Tuan’s ill-mannered, uncouth son as
Heir Apparent. More than once had she been brought to shame by his wild,
and sometimes disgraceful, conduct. Even in her presence, the lad paid
little heed to the formalities of Court etiquette, and none at all to
the dignity of his own rank and future position. Tzŭ Hsi was therefore
probably not sorry of the excuse for deposing him from that high estate.
In the Decree cancelling his title to the Throne, she observed that his
father, Prince Tuan, had brought the Empire to the verge of ruin, and
that the guilt which he had thus incurred towards his august ancestors
could never be wiped out. In order to save the “face” of the Heir
Apparent and her own, in a difficult position, the Edict describes him
as being fully convinced of the impossibility of his succeeding to the
Throne under existing conditions, and that he himself had therefore
petitioned Her Majesty to cancel her previous decision. In granting this
request and directing him to remove himself forthwith from the Palace
precincts, the Empress conferred upon him the rank of an Imperial Duke
of the lowest grade, excusing him at the same time from performance of
any official duties in that capacity. By this decision she meant to mark
the contempt into which the Heir Apparent had fallen, for the rank thus
granted him was a low one, and, without any official duties or salary,
he was condemned to a life of poverty and obscurity. This fallen Heir to
the Dragon Throne is a well-known figure to-day in the lowest haunts of
the Chinese City at Peking: a drunkard and disreputable character, living
the life of a gambler, notorious only as a swashbuckler of romantic past
and picturesque type,—one who, but for adverse fate and the accursed
foreigner, would have been Emperor of China at this moment.
Having deposed him, the Empress let it be known that the selection of an
heir to the disconsolate shade of T’ung-Chih would be postponed “until a
suitable candidate should be found,” an intimation generally understood
to mean that the vital question of providing an heir in legitimate and
proper succession to the Throne could not well be determined until
China’s foreign relations, as well as her internal affairs, had been
placed upon a basis of greater security. It is curious to note how, in
all such utterances, it appears to have been tacitly understood that the
Emperor Kuang Hsü was a “bad life.”
Thus, in exile, the Old Buddha wore philosophically the white sheet of
penance and burned the candle of expiation, preparatory to re-entering
anon upon a new lease of power in that Peking where, as she well knew,
the memory of the foreigner is short and his patience long. In June,
1901, the terms of peace were settled; on the 7th September the Peace
Protocol was solemnly signed by the representatives of all the Powers,
that “monument of collective inefficiency” which was to sow the seeds
of trouble to last for many years to come. At Hsi-an “in the profound
seclusion of the Palace” she knew remorse, not unstimulated by fear;
on the return journey to her capital (from 20th October, 1901, to 6th
January, 1902), while preparing her arts and graces to captivate the
barbarian, she was still a victim to doubt and apprehension. Meanwhile,
at Peking, the mandarin world, reassured by the attitude of the peace
negotiators and their terms, was fast shedding its garments of fear and
peacocking as of yore, in renewed assurance of its own indisputable
superiority. Evidence of this spirit was to be met with on all sides,
gradually coming to its fine flower in the subsequent negotiations for
the revision of the commercial Treaties, and bringing home once more,
to those who study these things, the unalterable truth of the discovery
made years ago by one of the earliest British representatives in China,
namely, that “this people yields nothing to reason and everything to
fear.”
One of the most remarkable instances of this revival of the mandarin’s
traditional arrogance of superiority occurred, significantly enough,
in connection with the penitential mission of the Emperor’s brother,
Prince Ch’un (now Regent) to Berlin, an episode which threatened for
a moment to lead to a rupture between Germany and China. By Article 1
of the Peace Protocol, Prince Ch’un had been specially designated for
this mission to convey in person to the German Emperor the regrets of
the Chinese Government for the murder of Baron von Ketteler. He left
Peking for the purpose on the 12th July, 1901, with definite instructions
as to the manner in which the Chinese Government’s regrets were to be
expressed. The German Emperor’s proposals as to the form of ceremony to
be followed in this matter were regarded by Prince Ch’un as incompatible
with his instructions, and it will be remembered that, after some
hesitation on the part of the German Government, the Chinese policy of
passive resistance eventually carried the day. The following telegraphic
correspondence on the subject is of permanent interest. Prince Ch’un
(whose personal name is Tsai Feng) telegraphed from Germany on the
26th September to the Peace Plenipotentiaries, Prince Ch’ing and Li
Hung-chang, as follows:—
“I have duly received the Grand Council’s message, and note
that I am commanded to act as circumstances may require,
and that a middle course is suggested as expedient. I fully
appreciate the intelligent caution of your policy, and
fortunately had already taken steps to act in the sense
indicated. On the 14th of this moon the German Emperor had
given orders to stop preparations for the ceremony, but as I
noticed that the Royal train had not been withdrawn nor had
his aide-de-camp left my suite, I inferred that there was a
possibility of his yielding the points in dispute. Accordingly,
after a long discussion of the situation with Yin Ch’ang, I
directed him to write in German to Jeng-yintai[119] requesting
his friendly intervention at the Foreign Office with a definite
explanation that China could not possibly agree that the
mission should be received kneeling, that Germany had nothing
to gain on insisting upon such a procedure, and that the only
result of a fiasco would be to make both countries appear
extremely ridiculous. I therefore begged that the Emperor
should accede to my personal appeal and waive the point. At
the same time I requested the German gentleman who acts as
Chinese Consul for Bavaria to address the Foreign Office to
the same effect, and with a request that we might enter upon
discussion of the point. Four days later I directed Lü Hai-huan
to return to his post at Berlin to make such arrangements as
might be possible, and on the following day I telegraphed to
him a summary of the Grand Council’s views on the matter. In
the afternoon of the 20th I received the Consul for Bavaria,
who informed me that he had received a telegram from the
Foreign Office inquiring when I proposed to start for Berlin,
and hoping that I would do so speedily, as the Emperor had now
consented to waive the question of our kneeling, but required
that only Yin Ch’ang should accompany me when presenting the
letter of regret, the remainder of my suite to remain in
another place.
“The same evening I received a message from Lü Hai-huan,
stating that the Emperor would undoubtedly receive me, and
that, since all other difficult questions had been settled, His
Majesty wished to leave for the country in a few days. Under
these circumstances I did not consider it advisable to insist
too strictly on minor details of etiquette, being pressed
for time, and I therefore requested the German Emperor’s
Chamberlain to have a special train prepared for my journey.
We reached Potsdam at 3 P.M. on the 21st[120]; I was met by a
General sent by the Emperor with his state carriage. Myself
and my suite were lodged in the Palace, where every attention
was shown to us, and it was arranged that I should fulfil my
mission on the following day, after depositing a wreath on the
grave of the late Empress. On the morning of the following day
I visited her tomb, and at noon the state carriage came to
take me to the New Palace, where, after being ushered into the
Emperor’s presence, I read aloud Their Majesties’ complimentary
letter. The members of my suite were awaiting in an adjoining
apartment. After the ceremony I was escorted back to my
residence, and at 2 P.M. the Emperor came to call upon me. He
was very cordial and remained talking with me for a long time.
By his orders a steam launch was provided for me, in which I
visited the Lake and Peacock Island; on the following day I
saw a review of the troops, and was presented to the Empress.
The Emperor begged me to remain longer in Berlin, suggesting
that I should visit the arsenals and inspect the fleet under
Prince Henry at Stettin. I could scarcely decline these polite
attentions, and after visiting the Empress I took lodging in
an hotel at Berlin. Thanks to the glorious prestige of our
Empire, matters have thus been satisfactorily settled, and
the knowledge that my mission has been satisfactorily carried
out will, I hope, bring comfort to Their Imperial Majesties
in their anxiety. I beg that you will memorialise the Throne
accordingly. Tsai Feng.”
The Empress Dowager was pleased to express her approval of the result of
this mission, which in the eyes of the Chinese Government was undoubtedly
one of those diplomatic triumphs which China appears to attain most
easily when her material resources have completely failed. Reading the
above despatch, it is difficult to realise that the Prince’s mission had
for its object the expiation of a brutal murder committed, with the full
approval of the Chinese Government and Court, on the representative of a
friendly nation. The opinion is commonly believed, held by the Legations
at Peking, that the present Regent has learned much since he returned
from that penitential mission to the German capital. During the present
year his brothers have been engaged on missions ostensibly intended to
acquire knowledge for the sorely-needed reorganisation of China’s army
and navy, missions which have been received with royal honours by almost
every civilised Power; but there are many close observers of the changing
conditions at Peking who see in these missions merely a repetition
of farces that have often been played before, and an attempt to gain
prestige in the eyes of the Chinese people for the Regent’s family and
the Court, rather than any definite intention or desire to reform the
official system.
[Illustration: HIS HIGHNESS PRINCE TSAI HSÜN.
Brother of the late Emperor and Present Regent—recently head of the Naval
Mission to Europe and America.]
XXIII
THE RETURN OF THE COURT TO PEKING
The state of mind of the Empress Dowager during the flight from the
Capital, and subsequently while the Court remained in exile at Hsi-an,
was marked by that same quality of indecision and vacillating impulse
which had characterised her actions throughout the Boxer crisis and the
siege of Peking. This may be ascribed partly to her advancing age and
partly to the conflicting influences of astrologers and fortune-tellers,
to whose advice she attached the greatest importance in all times of
peril. We have dealt in another place with her marked susceptibility to
omens and superstitious beliefs; its effect is most noticeable, however,
at this stage of her life, and was conspicuous in matters of small detail
throughout the return journey to Peking.
The influence of Jung Lu at Hsi-an, and that of Li Hung-chang at Peking,
had been systematically exercised to induce Her Majesty to return to the
Capital; but until the Peace Protocol conditions had been definitely
arranged, and until she had been persuaded to decree adequate punishment
upon the Boxer leaders, the predominant feeling in her mind was evidently
one of suspicion and fear, as was shown when she ordered the hurried
flight from T’ai-yüan fu to Hsi-an. The influence of Li Hung-chang,
who, from the outset, had realised the folly committed by the Chinese
Government in approving the attack upon the Legations, was exercised to
create in the mind of Her Majesty a clearer sense of the folly of that
policy. At the height of the crisis (21st July, 1900), realising that the
foreign forces brought to bear upon China were steadily defeating both
Boxers and Imperial troops, she appointed Li Hung-chang to be Viceroy of
Chihli, and directed that he should proceed from Canton with all haste,
there being urgent need of the services of a diplomat versed in foreign
affairs. Her Majesty went so far as to suggest that he should proceed
from Shanghai to Tientsin in a Russian vessel which “he might borrow for
the purpose.” Li Hung-chang’s reply, telegraphed to Yüan Shih-k’ai for
transmission to the Throne, while outwardly respectful, clearly implies
that Her Majesty has been to blame for the disasters then occurring.
“I am sincerely grateful,” he says, “for Your Majesty’s gratifying
confidence in me, but cannot help recalling to mind the folly which has
now suddenly destroyed that structure of reformed administration which,
during my twenty years’ term of office as Viceroy of Chihli, I was able
to build up not unsuccessfully. I fear it will not be possible for me to
resume the duties of this difficult post at a time of crisis like the
present, destitute as I am of all proper and material resources.” He
proceeds even to criticise Her Majesty’s suggestion as to his journey,
observing that “Russia possesses no vessel at Shanghai, and would
certainly refuse to lend if she had one, in view of the state of war
now existing.” Finally, he excuses himself for deferring his departure,
on the ground that the British Minister had requested him not to leave
until the foreign Ministers had been safely escorted from Peking to
Tientsin. “I do not know,” says he, “if any such arrangements for safely
escorting them can be made,” and therefore concludes by asking Yüan to
inform the Throne that he will start northwards, journeying by land, “as
soon as his health permits it.” To this plain-spoken message from the
great Viceroy, Tzŭ Hsi replied in two lines of equally characteristic
directness:—“Li Hung-chang is to obey our earlier Decree, and to make all
haste northwards. The crisis is serious. Let him make no further excuses
for delay.”
In spite of these peremptory orders, Li Hung-chang, who had a very
definite conception of his own predicament, remained at Shanghai,
ostensibly negotiating, but in reality waiting, to see what would be
the outcome of the siege of the Legations. He was interviewed by _The
Times_ correspondent at Shanghai on the 23rd of July, and then stated
that he would not proceed to his post in the north until convinced by
clear proofs that the Empress Dowager had seen the folly of her ways,
and was prepared to adopt a conciliatory policy towards the outraged
foreign Powers. At the end of July, when it became clear to him that
the Court had determined on flight, he forwarded by special courier a
very remarkable Memorial, in which he called the Throne to task in the
plainest possible terms, and urged an immediate change of policy. This
Memorial reached the Empress before her departure from Peking; certain
extracts from it are well worth reproduction, as showing Li Hung-chang at
his best, and displaying that quality of courageous intelligence which
made him for twenty years the foremost official in China and a world-wide
celebrity:—
“It is to be remembered that between this, our Empire of
China, and the outer barbarians, hostilities have frequently
occurred since the remotest antiquity, and our national history
teaches that the best way to meet them is to determine upon
our policy only after carefully ascertaining their strength
as compared with our own. Since the middle of the reign of
Tao-Kuang the pressure of the barbarians on our borders has
steadily increased, and to-day we are brought to desperate
straits indeed. In 1860 they invaded the Capital and burnt the
Summer Palace; His Majesty Hsien-Feng was forced to flee, and
thus came to his death. It is only natural that His Majesty’s
posterity should long to avenge him to the end of time, and
that your subjects should continue to cherish undying hopes of
revenge. But since that time, France has taken from us Annam,
the whole of that dependency being irretrievably lost; Japan
has fought us, and ousted us from Korea. Even worse disasters
and loss of territory were, however, to follow: Germany
seized Kiaochao; Russia followed by annexing Port Arthur and
Talienwan; England demanded Wei-hei-wei and Kowloon, together
with the extension of the Shanghai Settlements, and the opening
of new treaty ports inland; and France made further demands
for Kuang-Chou wan. How could we possibly maintain silence
under such grievous and repeated acts of aggression? Craven
would be the man who would not seek to improve our defences,
and shameless would be he who did not long for the day of
reckoning. I myself have enjoyed no small favours from the
Throne, and much is expected of me by the nation. Needless for
me to say how greatly I would rejoice were it possible for
China to enter upon a glorious and triumphant war; it would
be the joy of my closing days to see the barbarian nations
subjugated at last in submissive allegiance, respectfully
making obeisance to the Dragon Throne. Unfortunately, however,
I cannot but recognise the melancholy fact that China is
unequal to any such enterprise, and that our forces are in
no way competent to undertake it. Looking at the question as
one affecting chiefly the integrity of our Empire, who would
be so foolish as to cast missiles at a rat in the vicinity
of a priceless piece of porcelain? It requires no augur’s
skill in divination to foresee that eggs are more easily to
be cracked than stones. Let us consider one recent incident
in proof of this conclusion. Recently, in the attack by some
tens of thousands of Boxers and Imperial troops upon the
foreign Settlements at Tientsin, there were some two or three
thousand foreign soldiers to defend them; yet, after ten days
of desperate fighting, only a few hundred foreigners had been
slain, while no less than twenty thousand Chinese were killed
and as many more wounded. Again, there are no real defences
or fortified positions in the Legations at Peking, nor are
the foreign Ministers and their Legation staffs trained in
the use of arms; nevertheless, Tung Fu-hsiang’s hordes have
been bombarding them for more than a month, and have lost many
thousands of men in the vain attempt to capture the position.
“The fleets of the Allied Powers are now hurrying forward vast
bodies of their troops; the heaviest artillery is now being
brought swiftly to our shores. Has China the forces to meet
them? Does she possess a single leader capable of resisting
this invasion? If the foreign Powers send 100,000 men, they
will easily capture Peking, and Your Majesties will then find
escape impossible. You will no doubt endeavour once more to
flee to Jehol, but on this occasion you have no commander
like Sheng Pao to hold back the enemies’ forces from pursuit;
or, perhaps, you may decide to hold another Peace Conference,
like that at Shimonoseki, in 1895? But the conditions to-day
existing are in no way similar to those of that time,
when Marquis Ito was willing to meet me as your Minister
Plenipotentiary. When betrayed by the Boxers and abandoned
by all, where will your Majesties find a single Prince,
Councillor, or Statesman able to assist you effectively? The
fortunes of your house are being staked upon a single throw;
my blood runs cold at the thought of events to come. Under
any enlightened Sovereign these Boxers, with their ridiculous
claims of supernatural powers, would most assuredly have been
condemned to death long since. Is it not on record that the Han
Dynasty met its end because of its belief in magicians, and in
their power to confer invisibility? Was not the Sung Dynasty
destroyed because the Emperor believed ridiculous stories about
supernatural warriors clad in miraculous coats of mail?
“I myself am nearly eighty years of age, and my death cannot
be far distant; I have received favours at the hands of four
Emperors. If now I hesitate to say the things that are in my
mind, how shall I face the spirits of the sacred ancestors of
this Dynasty when we meet in the halls of Hades? I am compelled
therefore to give utterance to this my solemn prayer, and to
beseech Your Majesties to put away from you at once these vile
magic workers, and to have them summarily executed.
“You should take steps immediately to appoint a high official
who shall purge the land of this villainous rabble, and who
shall see to it that the foreign Ministers are safely escorted
to the headquarters of the Allied Armies. In spite of the great
heat, I have hurried northwards from Canton to Shanghai, where
your Majesties’ Decrees urging me to come to Peking have duly
reached me. Any physical weakness, however serious, would not
have deterred me from obeying this summons, but perusal of your
Decrees has led me to the conclusion that Your Majesties have
not yet adopted a policy of reason, but are still in the hands
of traitors, regarding these Boxers as your dutiful subjects,
with the result that unrest is spreading and alarm universal.
Moreover, I am here in Shanghai without a single soldier under
my command, and even should I proceed with all haste in the
endeavour to present myself at your Palace gates, I should meet
with innumerable dangers by the way, and the end of my journey
would most probably be that I should provide your rebellious
and turbulent subjects with one more carcass to hack into
mincemeat. I shall therefore continue in residence here for
the present, considering ways and means for raising a military
force and for furnishing supplies, as well as availing myself
of the opportunity of ascertaining the enemies’ plans, and
making such diplomatic suggestions as occur to me to be useful.
As soon as my plans are complete, I shall proceed northwards
with all possible speed.”
The plain-spoken advice of Li Hung-chang was not without effect on the
Empress Dowager. The Decrees issued by her in the name of the Emperor
from Huai-lai on the 19th and 20th of August are the first indications
given to the outside world that she had definitely decided on a policy
of conciliation so as to render possible her eventual return to the
capital—an event which, as she foresaw, would probably be facilitated
by the inevitable differences and jealousies already existing among the
Allies.
In the Edict of the 19th of August, after explaining that the whole Boxer
crisis and the attack on the Legations was the result of differences
between Christian and non-Christian Chinese, she querulously complains
that the foreign Powers, although doubtless well meaning in their
efforts to “exterminate the rebels,” are behaving in a manner which
suggests aggressive designs towards China, and which shows a lamentable
disregard of proper procedure and friendliness. She naively observes
that the Chinese Government had been at the greatest pains to protect
the lives and property of foreigners in Peking, in spite of many
difficulties, and expresses much surprise at such an evil return being
made for her invariable kindness and courtesy. If it were not for the
unbounded capacity of foreign diplomats, fully proved in the past, in the
matter of credulity where Chinese statecraft is concerned, it would be
difficult to regard utterances like these as the work of an intelligent
ruler. But Tzŭ Hsi was, as usual, justified, for at the very time
when these Decrees were issued, Russia was already using very similar
arguments, and making excuses for the Chinese government, in pursuance of
her own policy at Peking.
In the conclusion of the Decree above referred to, Her Majesty orders
Jung Lu, Hsü T’ung and Ch’ung Ch’i to remain in Peking to act as peace
negotiators, but she admits that, in dealing with foreigners supported
by troops and flushed with success, it may be difficult for them at the
outset to determine on a satisfactory line of procedure. She leaves it to
these plenipotentiaries, therefore, to determine whether the best course
would be to telegraph to the respective Foreign Offices of the countries
concerned, or to consult with the Consuls-General at Shanghai (_sic_),
with a view to obtaining friendly intervention! It could not escape so
shrewd a person as Tzŭ Hsi that the atmosphere of Peking at this juncture
was not likely to be favourable to her purposes, and that it would be
easier to hoodwink the Foreign Offices and the Consuls at Shanghai than
those who had just been through the siege.
A Decree of the following day, also in the name of the Emperor, is
couched in a very different strain—a pathetic admission of the Throne’s
guilt, a plea for the sympathy of his people, and an exhortation to
return to ways of wisdom. “Cleanse your hearts, and remove all doubt
and suspicion from your minds, so as to assist us, the Emperor, in our
shortcomings. We have been utterly unworthy, but the time is at hand when
it shall be for us to prove that Heaven has not left us without sense of
our errors and deep remorse.” The whole document reads with an unusual
ring of sincerity, accepting, in the name of the Emperor, full blame for
all the disasters which had overtaken the country, while reminding the
official class that the first cause of these calamities dates back to
the time when they learned and adopted habits of inveterate sloth and
luxury. From depths of contrition, the Edict admits fully the Throne’s
responsibility, “We, the Lord of this Empire, have failed utterly in
warding off calamities from our people, and we should not hesitate for
one moment to commit suicide, in order to placate our tutelary deities
and the gods of the soil, but we cannot forget that duty of filial piety
and service which we owe to our sacred and aged mother, the Empress
Dowager.”
The policy of reform is now clearly enunciated and outlined as an
essential condition of the future government of the Empire. Provincial
and metropolitan officials are ordered to proceed at once to join the
Court, in order that the reform programme may be speedily initiated; the
Yangtsze Viceroys are thanked for preserving order in accordance with
“treaty stipulations,” and Chinese converts to Christianity are once more
assured of the Throne’s protection and good-will.
These utterances of the Throne, which lost nothing in their presentation
to the respective Powers by Prince Ch’ing and his colleagues, soon
produced the desired effect, and reassured the Throne and its advisers as
to their personal safety. Accordingly, early in September, we find all
the Viceroys and high officials of the Provinces uniting in a Memorial,
whereby the Court is urged to return at once to the Capital, advice
which would never have been given had there been any question of violent
measures being taken by the Allies against the Empress Dowager. At this
time the question of the future location of the Chinese Capital was
being widely discussed at Court, and there was much conflicting advice
on the subject. The Viceroys’ Memorial was drafted by Yüan Shih-k’ai
and forwarded by him to Liu K’un-yi, at Nanking, for transmission; it
definitely blames the Boxers and their leaders for the ruin which had
come upon China, and rejoices at the thought that “the perplexities
which embarrassed your Majesties in the past have now given place to a
clearer understanding of the situation.” Noting the possibility of the
Court’s leaving T’ai-yüan fu and making “a further progress” westwards to
Hsi-an, the Memorialists deplore the idea and proceed to show that such
a step would be unwise as well as inconvenient. As an example of the way
in which Chinese Ministers of State deal with questions of high policy
and strategy, the following extract from this Memorial is not without
interest:—
“It is true that, in times past, our Capital has been shifted
on more than one occasion of national danger, but in those
days our enemies were not able to push their armies far into
the interior of our country for indefinite periods, and were
compelled to withdraw after brief expeditions. The position
of affairs to-day, however, is very different, so that we can
obtain no reliable guidance from precedents of history. As
regards the province of Shensi, it has always been a centre of
wars and rebellions; its people are poverty stricken, and there
is no trade there. Seven centuries ago, Hsi-an was an Imperial
city, but is now anything but prosperous. Its vicinity to Kansu
and the New Dominion territories, infested with Mahomedan
rebels and adjoining the Russian Empire, renders it most
unsuitable as a site for your Majesties’ Capital. Supposing
that the Allies, flushed with success, should determine on an
advance westwards, what is there to prevent them from doing so?
If ten thousand miles of ocean have not stopped them, are they
likely to be turned back from a shorter expedition by land?”
After referring to the fact that the cradle of the Dynasty and the tombs
of its ancestors are situated near Peking, and that it is geographically
best fitted to be the centre of Government, the Memorialists remind
the Throne that the foreign Powers have promised to vacate Peking, and
to refrain from annexing any territory if the Court will return. These
ends, they say, will not be attained should the Court persist in its
intention to proceed further westwards, since it is now the desire of
the foreign Ministers that China’s rulers should return to Peking. In
the event of a permanent occupation of Peking by the Allies, the loss
of Manchuria would be inevitable. The Memorialists predict partition
and many other disasters, including financial distress, and the
impossibility of furnishing the Throne with supplies at Hsi-an or any
other remote corner of the Empire. If the Court’s decision to proceed to
Hsi-an is irrevocable, at least a Decree should now be issued, stating
that its sojourn there will be a brief one, and that the Court will
return to Peking upon the complete restoration of peaceful conditions.
“The continued existence of the Empire must depend upon the Throne’s
decision upon this matter.” The Memorial concludes by imploring their
Majesties to authorise Prince Ch’ing to inform the foreign Ministers
that the withdrawal of the allied armies will be followed by a definite
announcement as to the Court’s return.
In a further Memorial from the Viceroys and Governors, it is stated that
the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs had suggested to the Chinese
Minister in St. Petersburg, that the location of the Capital at Hsi-an
would certainly prove undesirable, in view of the poverty-stricken
condition of the province, and that their Majesties would no doubt,
therefore, proceed to Lan-chou fu, in Kansu. Referring to this
interesting fact, the Memorialists observe:—
“Those who are in favour of establishing the Capital at Hsi-an
profess to claim that the Yellow River and the T’ung Kuan Pass
constitute natural and impassible frontiers against attack.
They forget, however, that foreign nations possess artillery of
very long range. At T’ung Kuan the Yellow River is less than
two miles wide, and their guns will easily carry twice that
distance. Your Majesties have nothing but the native artillery,
and a few inferior foreign guns, and would never be able to
hold the position. The foreigners would undoubtedly penetrate
far into the interior, and control all the waterways, thus
preventing transport and supplies. Even if one foreign Power
were to find it difficult, there is no doubt that it would be
easy for several of them acting together.
“Moreover, friendly Powers are entitled, by the law of
civilised nations, to send their diplomatic representatives
to our Capital. If peace be made, and the foreign Powers
assent to the proposed change of capital, they will surely
insist upon sending their envoys into Shensi. After their
recent experiences, they will require to have foreign troops
to guard their Legations, whose numbers must necessarily be
large, in proportion to the distance from the coast. Foreign
garrisons would thus have to be established at points in
Honan, Shansi and Chihli, in order to maintain their line of
communications, so that China would eventually be overrun by
foreign troops. It is, therefore, plainly out of the question
that the Court should leave Peking. In times of peace it might
have been suggested, but to think of it after a disastrous
war is impossible. The foreigners are acting in unison;
China is completely disorganised. They have ample resources
and reinforcements; China has none. If we have thoughts of
fighting any foreign Power we must first form alliances with
several others; in any case nothing can be done before an ample
supply of ordnance and munitions of war has been accumulated.
This is no time for considering such possibilities. We, your
Memorialists, venture to suggest that Your Majesties have
failed to take into consideration all these facts, and in
impressing them upon you, we earnestly beg that you may now
come to a wise decision.”
Before coming to a decision, however, Tzŭ Hsi required to be fully
assured that the foreign Powers would not insist on her abdicating the
supreme power as one of the conditions of peace. Convinced on that point,
the hesitation which she had previously shown in regard to returning to
Peking dropped from her like a garment. It had been freely predicted by
conservative officials and the _literati_ that the Old Buddha would never
again wish to see her desecrated capital or to visit the polluted shrines
of her ancestors. In spite of her superstitious nature, however, she was
far too level-headed and far-seeing a woman to attach supreme importance
to sentimental considerations, or to allow them to weigh heavily in
the balance when the question of her own rulership was at stake. The
hesitation which she had shown and the attention which she had paid to
the advice of those who, like Chang Chih-tung, desired her to establish
a new capital in Central China, were primarily a question of “face.” She
would only return to Peking if guaranteed the full dignity and power of
her former position. But as the peace negotiations proceeded, and as
it became clear to her that along the well-worn path of international
jealousies she might return unpunished, and even welcomed, to Peking, she
proceeded to make preparations for an early return. Fully informed each
day by Prince Ch’ing of the progress which her plenipotentiaries were
making towards the completion of the Peace Protocol, and overjoyed at
its terms, she waited only until the condition of the roads, always more
or less impassable after the summer rains, had sufficiently improved to
permit of comfortable travelling. During the delay necessitated by the
collecting and packing of the enormous quantity of “tribute” collected
by Her Majesty and the Court during their stay at Hsi-an, she received
definite confirmation of the good news that her treasure vaults in the
capital had not been plundered by the foreign troops—good news which
increased her anxiety to return as quickly as possible to superintend
its removal before any pilfering by the eunuchs should take place.
It was on the 24th day of the 8th Moon (20th October, 1901) that the
long procession started from Her Majesty’s temporary residence in the
Governor’s Yamên; followed by an enormous retinue, she commenced her
journey by sacrificing to the God of War, the guardian spirit of her
Dynasty (and, it may be added, patron of the Boxers), at a small temple
outside the city gates. From this onward the Court advanced northward by
easy stages of about twenty-five miles a day, resting first at Ho-nan fu;
thence on to K’ai-fêng, where her sixty-sixth birthday was celebrated
and where she remained for some weeks. The travelling lodges and other
arrangements for her comfort and convenience along the whole line of her
route were in striking contrast to the squalor and privation which the
Court had endured in the flight from Peking.
It was during her stay at K’ai-fêng that the Peace Protocol was signed at
Peking. It was also before her departure from that city, at the end of
the 9th Moon, that Li Hung-chang died. His knowledge of foreign affairs
and remarkable ability in negotiations had been of the greatest service
to his Imperial mistress, and there is no doubt that the liberal terms
granted to China by the victorious Allies were very largely due to his
efforts. Her Majesty, while fully appreciating his ability, had never
treated him with marked favour, and had always refused to appoint him to
the Grand Council, giving as her excuse that she could not understand his
dialect. Upon his death, however, she conferred upon him an honour which
had never before been granted to any Chinese subject under the Dynasty,
namely, that of having a shrine built to his memory at the capital
itself, in addition to those erected in the provinces where he had borne
office.
It was significant of her impartial and intelligent rulership that,
although she had blamed him as originally responsible for the Japanese
War and its disastrous results, she had never approved of the Emperor’s
hasty and vindictive action in removing him from the Viceroyalty of
Chihli. Upon the signing of the Peace Protocol she conferred additional
posthumous honours upon him, taking occasion at the same time, in an
Imperial Decree, to congratulate and thank Prince Ch’ing, Yüan Shih-k’ai
and others, who assisted in bringing about the settlement of peace terms.
In particular she praised the loyalty of Jung Lu, “who had earnestly
advised the annihilation of the Boxers, and who, in addition to other
meritorious services on the Grand Council, had been chiefly instrumental
in protecting the Legations.”
After a series of magnificent theatrical entertainments in honour of
her birthday, the Court left K’ai-fêng and continued its journey to the
capital. On the eve of her departure Her Majesty took occasion sternly
and publicly to rebuke the Manchu Prefect, Wen T’i,[121] who had dared
to advise her against returning to the capital, and to predict that the
treacherous foreigners would certainly seize her sacred person—a useful
piece of play to the gallery.
At the crossing of the Yellow River, which took place in beautiful
weather, she sacrificed to the River God, in expiation and thanksgiving.
The local officials had constructed a magnificent barge, in the form
of a dragon, upon which she and the ladies of the Court crossed the
stream. It was noticed from this point onwards that wherever foreigners
happened to be amongst the spectators of the Imperial cortège, she made
a point of showing them particular attention and civility, and before
her arrival in Peking she issued a Decree commanding that Europeans
should not be prevented from watching the procession upon her arrival,
and this in spite of the fact that, in accordance with the usual custom,
the Legations had issued notices forbidding their nationals to appear
in the streets during the passage of the Imperial cortège. Everything
indicated, in fact, that Her Majesty now desired to conciliate the
European Powers by all possible means, and if it be borne in mind that
it was part of her deliberate policy thus to ingratiate herself with
foreigners as a means of furthering her own future policy, her actions
lose nothing of interest, while they gain something from the humorous
point of view.
On crossing the borders of the Province of Chihli, Her Majesty issued a
Decree, couched in almost effusive terms of friendliness, proclaiming
that the Emperor would receive the foreign Ministers in audience
immediately upon his return to the Palace, and that the reception would
take place in the central Throne Hall of the sacred enclosure. Chinese,
reading this Decree, and ignorant of the terms of the Peace Protocol
which provided for this particular concession to the barbarian, would
naturally regard it as a spontaneous mark of the Imperial clemency and
goodwill. In the same Edict Her Majesty proclaimed her intention of
receiving the Ministers’ wives in person, intimating that she cherished
most pleasant memories of past friendly intercourse with them. Here,
again, we note fulfilment of a plan, deliberately conceived and formed
upon the best classical models, “for dealing with strong and savage
people.”
At noon on the 6th of January, 1902, the Imperial party arrived by
special train at the temporary station which had been erected close to
the Southern walls of Peking, and adjoining the old terminus at Ma-chia
pu. Large pavilions, handsomely decorated, had been erected near the
station, in which the Old Buddha and the Emperor were to be received;
they were furnished with a throne of gold lacquer, cloisonné altar
vessels and many valuable pieces of porcelain. Several hundreds of the
highest metropolitan officials were in attendance, and a special place
had been provided for foreigners. As the long train of over thirty
carriages drew up at the station, the keen face of the Old Buddha was
seen anxiously scanning her surroundings from one of the windows of
her car. With her were the young Empress and the Princess Imperial,
while the chief eunuch, Li Lien-ying, was in attendance. Recognising
Her Majesty, every official fell upon his knees, whilst Chi Lu, chief
officer of the Household, officiously shouted to the foreigners to remove
their hats (which they had already done). The first to emerge from the
train was the chief eunuch, who proceeded forthwith to check the long
list of provincial tribute and treasure, mountainous loads of baggage
which had travelled with the Court from the start and under Her Majesty’s
close personal supervision. After the eunuch came the Emperor, evidently
extremely nervous, who, at a sign from Her Majesty, hurried into his
sedan-chair and was swiftly borne away, without a word or a sign of
recognition to any of the officials in attendance. After his departure,
the Empress came out and stood upon the platform at the end of her
carriage. “Quite a number of foreigners are here, I see,” she was heard
to observe. She saluted them in accordance with the etiquette observed
by Chinese women—bowing and raising her crossed hands. Prince Ch’ing
then advanced to greet Her Majesty, and with him Wang Wen-shao (who had
succeeded Li Hung-chang as Peace Plenipotentiary). They invited Her
Majesty to enter her chair: “There is no hurry,” she replied. She stood
for some five minutes in full view of the crowd, talking energetically
with the bystanders, and looking extremely well and youthful for her age,
until the chief eunuch returned and handed her the list of baggage and
treasure, which she scanned with close attention and then returned to him
with an expression of satisfaction.
After this, at the request of the Viceroy of Chihli (Yüan Shih-k’ai), the
foreign manager and engineer of the railway were presented to her, and
received her thanks for the satisfactory arrangements made throughout
the journey. She then entered her chair, a larger and finer conveyance
than that supplied to the Emperor, and was borne away towards the Palace;
by her side ran one of her favourite eunuchs repeatedly calling Her
Majesty’s attention to objects of interest. Whenever foreigners were in
sight he would inform Her Majesty of the fact, and by one he was heard
distinctly to say: “Look! Old Buddha, look quickly at that foreign
devil,” whereupon the Empress smiled and bowed most affably. Passing
through the Southern gate of the Chinese city, her bearers carried her
straight to the large enceinte of the Tartar city wall at the Ch’ienmen,
where stands the shrine dedicated to the tutelary God of the Manchus.
Here crowds of foreigners were in waiting on the wall. Looking down on
the courtyard towards the shrine, they saw the Old Buddha leave her
chair and fall upon her knees to burn incense before the image of the
God of War, whilst several Taoist priests chanted the ritual. Rising she
next looked up towards the foreigners, smiling and bowing, before she
was carried away through the gate into the precincts of the Forbidden
City. No sooner had she reached the inner palace (the Ning Shou kung) at
about 2 P.M., than she commanded the eunuchs to commence digging up the
treasure which had been buried there at the time of her flight; she was
gratified beyond measure to find that it had indeed remained untouched.
Next, with an eye not only upon her future relations with foreigners
but also on public opinion throughout the Empire, she issued a Decree
conferring posthumous honours on the “Pearl concubine,” who, as it will
be remembered, was thrown down a well by her orders on the morning of the
Court’s flight from the Palace. In this Decree Her Majesty praises the
virtue and admirable courage of the dead woman, which “led her virtuously
to commit suicide when unable to catch up the Court on its departure,”
unwilling as she was to witness the destruction and pollution of the
ancestral shrines. Her trustworthy conduct was therefore rewarded by
the granting of a posthumous title and by promotion of one step in rank
in the Imperial harem. The Decree was generally regarded as fulfilling
all reasonable requirements of atonement towards the deceased, for in
China the dead yet live and move in a shadowy, but none the less real,
hierarchy. Alive, a “Pearl concubine” more or less counted for little
when weighed against the needs of the Old Buddha’s policies; once dead,
however, her spirit must needs be conciliated and compensated.
Many Europeans who had witnessed the arrival of the Empress Dowager,
remained at the railway station to see the unloading of her long baggage
train, a most interesting and instructive sight. First were discharged
the yellow chairs of the young Empress and the Princess Imperial, and
four green chairs with yellow borders for the principal concubines;
the other ladies of the Court followed in official carts, two to each
vehicle. There were about ninety of them altogether, and the arrangements
for their conveyance were accompanied by no little noise and confusion,
the loquacity of some of the elder ladies being most noticeable. After
their departure the attention of the eunuchs and minor officials was
directed to the huge pile of the Empress Dowager’s personal baggage,
which included her cooking utensils and household articles in daily
use. This operation, as well as the removal of a very large quantity of
bullion, (every case of which was marked with the name of the province or
city that had sent it as tribute), was for a time superintended by the
Grand Council. But as the work was enough to last for several hours, it
was not long before, led by Jung Lu, they entered their chairs and left
for the City. It was noticed that Jung Lu seemed very infirm, and was
supported as he walked by two attendants of almost gigantic stature.
From Cheng-ting fu to Pao-ting fu, and thence to Peking, the Court
travelled, for the first time in its history, by train. The following
description of the journey is reprinted, by kind permission of the editor
of _The Times_, from an article published in that paper in March, 1902.
It shows an interesting side of the Empress Dowager’s character, that
of the thrifty mistress of her goods and chattels, and gives a clear-cut
impression of that vigorous personality which devoted the same close
attention to details of transport and domestic economy as to niceties of
Court ceremonial or historical precedents on vital questions of State;
characteristics which inevitably suggest a marked resemblance between the
Old Buddha and _le petit Caporal_.
“Early on December 31st the Court arrived at Cheng-ting fu,
escorted by a large body of cavalry and accompanied by an
enormous suite of officials, eunuchs and servants. The baggage
was carried by a train of carts, estimated by an eye-witness
at three thousand. The eunuchs numbered between three and four
hundred, and of cooks and other kitchen servants there were
almost as many. To provide accommodation for such a mass of
people was impossible, especially as all the best quarters
in the town had already been occupied by the high officials
who, with their retainers, had come from the north to welcome
the Empress Dowager on her return. For three days the Court
rested in Cheng-ting fu, during which time the scene was one
of indescribable confusion; baggage, stacked haphazard, filled
every available corner, eunuchs and servants camping around
and upon it, stolidly enduring much physical discomfort with
the apathy peculiar to Asiatics. Yet, so great was the cold
(on the night of January 1st the thermometer stood at two
degrees (Fahrenheit) below zero) that many of these wayfarers
gave way to lamentations and tears. Officials of the lower and
middle grades, unable to obtain a lodging, were compelled to
pass these days in such makeshift shelter as they could find
in the vicinity of the railway station, where swarmed a mob of
undisciplined soldiery. On the second night a fire broke out in
the stables of the Imperial residence, which, though eventually
checked before much damage was done, added greatly to the
general disorder, and might well have had serious results in
the absence of all organisation and control. The definite
announcement of the Court’s intention to leave for Pao-ting fu
on the 3rd of January was received with unmistakable relief by
the hungry, motley crowd which represented the pomp and pride
of Asia’s greatest Empire.
“From the Yellow River to the railway terminus at Cheng-ting
fu—a distance of about two hundred and fifty miles—the
ever-growing Imperial procession had travelled almost
continuously in chairs, litters, carts, and on horse-back,
affording a spectacle which recalled in many of its chief
characteristics those of Europe’s mediæval pageantry as
described by Scott. Every Manchu Prince had a retinue of
horsemen varying from thirty to a hundred in number; along the
frost-bound, uneven tracks which serve for roads in Northern
China, an unending stream of laden waggons creaked and groaned
through the short winter’s day, and on, guided by soldier
torch-bearers, through bitter nights to the appointed stopping
places. But for the Empress Dowager and the Emperor, with
the Chief Eunuch and the ladies of the Court, there was easy
journeying and a way literally made smooth. Throughout its
entire distance the road over which the Imperial palanquins
were borne had been converted into a smooth, even surface of
shining clay, soft and noiseless under foot; not only had every
stone been removed, but as the procession approached gangs of
men were employed in brushing the surface with feather brooms.
At intervals of about ten miles well-appointed rest-houses
had been built, where all manner of food was prepared. The
cost of this King’s highway, quite useless, of course, for
the ordinary traffic of the country, was stated by a native
contractor to amount roughly to fifty Mexican dollars for every
eight yards—say £1,000 a mile—the clay having to be carried in
some places from a great distance. As an example of the lavish
expenditure of the Court and its officials, in a land where
squalor is a pervading feature, this is typical.
“The hour for leaving Cheng-ting fu was fixed by the Empress
Dowager at 9.30 A.M. on January 3rd. It is significant of the
character of this remarkable woman, now in her sixty-seventh
year, that even in matters of detail she leaves nothing to
chance, nothing to others; the long arm of her unquestioned
authority reaches from the Throne literally to the servants’
quarters. Without creating any impression of fussiness,
she makes a distinctly feminine personality felt, and the
master-mind which has guided the destinies of China for the
last forty years by no means disdains to concern itself in
minor questions of household commissariat and transport. It is
impossible not to reflect what such a woman might have been,
what she might have done for her people, had there come into
her life some accident or influence to show her, in their true
light, the corruption, dishonesty, and cold-blooded cruelty of
her reign.
“The departure of the Court by a special train, long since
prepared for its reception by the Belgian railway authorities
and Sheng Hsüan-huai, was fixed for 9.30 A.M. in accordance
with Her Majesty’s orders; that Imperial and imperious lady,
however, made her appearance at the station at seven o’clock,
accompanied by the young Empress, the Imperial concubine,
and the ladies-in-waiting. The Emperor had preceded her, and
upon her arrival knelt on the platform to perform respectful
obeisance, in the presence of an interested crowd. The next
two hours were spent by the Empress, who showed no signs of
fatigue, in supervision of the arrangements for despatching
the vast accumulation of her personal baggage, and in holding
informal audiences with various high dignitaries, military
and civil, on the platform. Amongst others she sent for M.
Jadot, and spent some time in friendly conversation with him,
expressing great satisfaction at the excellent arrangements
made for her comfort, and pleasure at exchanging the sedan
chair for her luxuriously-appointed drawing-room car. She took
pains to impress upon the engineer-in-chief the importance
which she attached to keeping the Court’s baggage and effects
within reach, evincing on this subject much determination of a
good-humoured kind.
“Eventually, after the despatch of four freight trains, her
mind was relieved of this anxiety, but it was to be clearly
understood that the same personal supervision would be
exercised at Pao-ting fu, for in no circumstances could the
impedimenta be sent on in advance to Peking. There is a touch
of feminine nature in this incident which can hardly fail to
bring the Empress Dowager into some degree of kinship with
her fellow-women in other lands; there is also an implied
reflection on the honesty of persons in attendance on the Court
which is not without significance.
“The scene upon the platform was one of remarkable interest.
In utter subversion of all accepted ideas in regard to the
seclusion and privacy in which the Chinese Court is supposed to
live, move, and have its being, there was on this occasion—and
indeed throughout the journey—no sign of either attempt or
wish to guard Their Majesties from observation and intrusion.
The crowd, quietly inquisitive, but showing no inclination
to demonstration of any sort, came and went at its pleasure;
Yüan Shih-kai’s braves, who to the number of about a thousand
travelled to Peking as the Empress Dowager’s bodyguard,
crowded around the Imperial party, invading even their railway
carriages. While the ruler of the Empire held audience with
some of its highest officials, none of their retainers were
employed, as might have been expected, in keeping the people
at a respectful distance; the scene, in fact, bore striking
testimony to that democratic side of the Chinese character
which cannot but impress itself on every foreign visitor to
a Viceroy’s or magistrate’s yamên; in the present instance,
however, it must have been, for all concerned, a new and
remarkable experience.
“To the native spectators, the ladies of the Court with
their eunuch attendants were as much objects of interest
as the foreign railway officials; the Imperial concubine,
‘Chin’ (or ‘Lustrous’) Kuei fei, a lively young person of
pleasing appearance, attracting much attention. This lady,
gaily clad and with lavishly painted face, bestowed upon
everything connected with the train an amount of attention
which augurs well for the future of railway enterprise in
China, running from car to car and chatting volubly with the
ladies-in-waiting. All the ladies of the Court wore pearls in
profusion—those of the Empress being particularly fine—and all
smoked cigarettes in place of the time-honoured water-pipe.
Herein again, for the optimistically inclined, may be found a
harbinger of progress. During the Empress Dowager’s audiences,
lasting sometimes over a quarter of an hour at a time, the
Emperor stood close at her side; invariably silent, generally
listless, though his expression when animated is described
as conveying an impression of remarkable intelligence. The
young Empress has good features, marred, in European eyes, by
excessive use of paint; she, too, appeared to be melancholy,
and showed but little interest in her surroundings. The Emperor
and both Empresses were simply dressed in quiet coloured silks.
“The special train in which, punctually at 9.30 A.M., the
rulers of China left for their capital consisted of a
locomotive and twenty-one carriages, arranged in the following
order:—Nine freight cars laden with servants, sedan chairs,
carts, mules, &c.; a guard’s van, for employés of the railway;
two first-class carriages (Imperial Princes); Emperor’s special
carriage; first-class carriage for high officials in attendance
(Jung Lu, Yüan Shih-k’ai, General Sung Ch’ing, Lu Ch’uan-lin,
Governor Ts’en of Shansi, Ministers of the Household,
and others); Empress Dowager’s special carriage; special
carriages of the young Empress and the Imperial concubine; two
second-class carriages, for eunuchs in attendance; first-class
carriage for the Chief Eunuch, and the ‘Service’ carriage of M.
Jadot.
“The special carriages had been prepared at great expense under
instructions issued by the Director-General of Railways, Sheng.
Those of the Empress Dowager, the Emperor, and his consort,
were luxuriously furnished with costly curios and upholstered
in Imperial yellow silk; each had its throne, divan, and
reception room. Heavy window curtains had been thoughtfully
provided in the carriages intended for the ladies’ use; they
were not required, however, as none of the party showed any
desire for privacy during the entire journey. While travelling,
the carriage of the Empress Dowager was the general rendezvous
of all the ladies, attended by their eunuchs, the Empress
Dowager spending much of the time in conversation with the
Chief Eunuch—of somewhat notorious character—and the Emperor.
“The Empress Dowager possesses in a marked degree a
characteristic frequently observed in masterful natures: she
is extremely superstitious. The soothsayers and astrologers
of the Court at Peking enjoy no sinecure; on the other hand,
more attention is paid to their advice than that which the
average memorialist obtains, and the position of necromancer
to the Throne is not unprofitable. On the present occasion
the sages-in-ordinary had fixed the auspicious hour for the
Sovereign’s return to Peking at 2 P.M. on January 7th; M. Jadot
was accordingly requested to make the necessary arrangements
to this end, and the Empress Dowager repeatedly impressed upon
him the importance which she attached to reaching the Yung-ting
gate of the city at that particular hour. To do this, as the
engineer-in-chief pointed out, would entail starting from
Pao-ting-fu at 7 A.M., but the determined ruler of China was
not to be put off by any such considerations. At 6 A.M. this
wonderful woman arrived at the station; it was freezing hard,
and the sand storm was raging violently; soldiers bearing
lanterns and torches led the way for the chair-bearers, since
the day had not yet dawned. The scene in all its details
appeals powerfully to the imagination. Once more the baggage
question monopolised the Empress Dowager’s attention; her last
freight train, laden with spoils of the southern provinces,
preceded the Imperial train by only twenty minutes. It will be
realised that the august lady’s requirements in the matter of
personal supervision of her property added responsibility of a
most serious kind to the cares—at no time light—of the railway
staff.
“An incident occurred at Pao-ting fu which throws a strong
side-light upon the Empress Dowager’s character. The high
Chinese officials above mentioned, who travelled in the
first-class carriage between the Emperor’s special car and
that of the Empress, finding themselves somewhat pressed for
space, consulted the railway officials and obtained another
first-class compartment, which was accordingly added to the
train. Her Majesty immediately noticing this, called for
explanations, which failed to meet with her approval. The
extra carriage was removed forthwith, Yüan Shih-k’ai and
his colleagues being reluctantly compelled to resume their
uncomfortably crowded quarters; to these Her Majesty paid
a visit of inspection before leaving the station, making
enquiries as to the travellers’ comfort, and expressing
complete satisfaction at the arrangements generally.
“At 11.30 A.M., punctual to the minute, the train arrived
at Feng-T’ai, where the Luhan line from Lu Ko-ch’iao meets
the Peking-Tien-tsin Railway; here the British authorities
took charge. The Empress Dowager was much reassured by the
excellence of the arrangements and the punctuality observed;
nevertheless, she continued to display anxiety as to the
hour of reaching Peking, frequently comparing her watch with
railway time. To M. Jadot, who took leave of Their Majesties
at Feng-T’ai, she expressed again the satisfaction she had
derived from this her first journey by rail, promising to renew
the experience before long and to be present at the official
opening of communication between Hankow and the capital. She
presented five thousand dollars for distribution among the
European and Chinese employés of the line, and decorated M.
Jadot with the order of the Double Dragon, Second Class.
“From Feng-T’ai the railway under British control runs directly
to the main south gate of the Tartar city (Ch’ienmen), but it
had been laid down by the soothsayers and astrologers aforesaid
that, for good augury, and to conform with tradition, the
Imperial party must descend at Machiapu and enter the Chinese
city by the direct road to the Palace through the Yung-ting
Men. At midday, therefore, leaving the railway, the Court
started in chairs for the city, in the midst of a pageant as
magnificent as the resources of Chinese officialdom permit.
The scene has been described by European writers as imposing,
but a Japanese correspondent refers to its _mise-en-scène_ as
suitable to a rustic theatre in his own country. Be this as it
may, the Empress Dowager, reverently welcomed by the Emperor,
who had preceded her, as usual, entered the city, from which
she had fled so ignominiously eighteen months before, at the
hour named by her spiritual advisers as propitious. Present
appearances at Peking, as well as the chastened tone of
Imperial Edicts, indicate that the wise men were right in their
choice.
“It may be added, in conclusion, as a sign of the times, that
the Empress Dowager’s sleeping compartment, prepared under the
direction of Sheng Hsüan-huai, was furnished with a European
bed. _Per contra_, it contained also materials for opium
smoking, of luxurious yet workmanlike appearance.”
Within a week or so of the Court’s return, the representatives of the
foreign Powers were duly received in audience under the conditions named
in the Peace Protocol. It was observed that the Old Buddha assumed, as
of old, the highest seat on the Throne daïs, the Emperor occupying a
lower and almost insignificant position. At the subsequent reception of
the Minister’s wives, in the Pavilion of Tranquil Longevity, the wife of
the Doyen of the Diplomatic Corps presented an address to “welcome Her
Imperial Majesty back to her beautiful Capital.” The document was most
cordially, almost effusively, worded, and showed that the astute and
carefully pre-arranged measures taken by the Empress to conciliate the
foreign Powers by adroit flattery and “allurements” had already attained
their desired effect. Already the horrors of the siege, the insults and
the arrogance of 1900, were forgotten; already the representatives of the
Powers were prepared, as of old, to vie with each other in attempts to
purchase Chinese favour by working each against the other.
In receiving the address of the ladies of the Diplomatic Body, Her
Majesty created a marked impression by the emotion with which she
referred to her affectionate regard for Europeans in general and her
visitors in particular. With every evidence of complete sincerity she
explained that a “Revolution in the Palace” had compelled her to flee
from Peking; she deeply regretted the inconvenience and hardships to
which her good friends of the Foreign Legations had been so unfortunately
subjected, and she hoped for a renewal of the old cordial relations.
The foreign ladies left the audience highly satisfied with the Empress
Dowager for her condescension, and with themselves at being placed in
a position to display such magnanimity. This audience was the first of
many similar occasions, and reference to the numerous works in which the
social side of Her Majesty’s subsequent relations with Europeans have
been described will show that the Old Buddha had not greatly erred when
she assured Jung Lu of the value of ancient classical methods in dealing
with barbarians, and promised him that all would readily be forgiven and
forgotten in the tactful exercise of condescending courtesies.
Life settled down then into the old grooves, and all went on as before
in the Capital of China, the garrisons of the Allies soon becoming a
familiar feature in the streets to which gradually the traders and
surviving Chinese residents returned. Once more began the farce of
foreign intercourse with the so-called Government of the Celestial
Empire, and with it were immediately renewed all the intrigues and
international jealousies which alone enable its rulers to maintain some
sort of equilibrium in the midst of conflicting pressures.
The power behind the Throne, from this time until his death, was
undoubtedly Jung Lu, but the Foreign Legations, still confused by
memories and echoes of the siege, and suspicious of all information which
did not conform to their expressed ideas of the causes of the Boxer
Rising, failed to realise the truth, and saw in him a suspect who should
by rights have suffered punishment with his fellow conspirators. But the
actual facts of the case, and his individual actions as recorded beyond
dispute in the diary of His Excellency Ching Shan, and unmistakably
confirmed by other independent witnesses, were not then available in
the Chancelleries. Accordingly, when Jung Lu first paid his formal
official calls upon the Foreign Ministers, he was anything but gratified
at the reception accorded to him. In vain it was that he assured one
member of the Diplomatic body, with whom he had formerly been on fairly
good terms, that as Heaven was his witness he had done nothing in 1900
except his utmost to defend and save the Legations; his statements were
entirely disbelieved, and so greatly was he chagrined at the injustice
done him, that he begged the Empress Dowager in all seriousness to allow
him to retire from the Grand Council. But Tzŭ Hsi, fully realising the
situation, assured him of her complete confidence, and in a highly
laudatory decree refused his request:—
“The Grand Secretary, Jung Lu,” she said, “is a most patriotic
and loyal servant of the Throne, upon whose services we have
long and confidently relied. During the whole of the Boxer
Rebellion crisis it was he, and he alone, who calmly and
fearlessly held to the path of firmness, whilst all around
him was confusion and shouting, so that without doubt, he was
the means of saving the Empire. Most glorious indeed is his
merit. Although it may be said that the situation has now
been practically saved, we have by no means recovered from
the effects of this grievous national disaster, and there is
urgent necessity for the abolition of countless abuses and
the introduction of a programme of Reform. It is fitting that
all should assist us to this end. Whilst we ourselves, in the
seclusion of the Palace, labour unceasingly, how is it possible
that the Grand Secretary, who has received such high favour at
our hands, should even think of withdrawing from the stress
of public life, leaving to us incessant and harassing labour?
Would not his conscience drive him to remorse when reflecting
on the self-denying duties of every loyal Statesman in the
service of his Sovereign? His prayer is refused.”
On two subsequent occasions before her death, the populace and the
foreign community in Peking were afforded opportunities of witnessing the
Empress Dowager’s return to the city from short excursions by railway,
and on each of these her affable, almost familiar, attitude was a subject
of general comment. The first occasion was in the following spring, when
she visited the Eastern Tombs, and upon her return, sacrificing as usual
before the shrine of the God of War in the _enceinte_ of the Ch’ienmên,
she talked volubly with several of the ladies whom she had met at Court.
After emerging from the Temple, she called upon one of the eunuchs to
bring her opera glasses, with which she eagerly scanned the crowd looking
down from the wall of the city, waving her handkerchief whenever she
perceived a familiar face. On one occasion she even shouted up an inquiry
asking after the health of the daughter of one of the Foreign Ministers.
The Manchu Princes and Chamberlains of the Court were unable to conceal
their indignation and wrath at such condescension on the part of the
Empress Dowager towards those whom, in spite of 1900, they still regarded
(and regard to this day) as outer barbarians. So much incensed were they
that they even urged Chi Lu to beg Her Majesty to desist, and to re-enter
her chair, an invitation to which she paid not the slightest attention,
being evidently well pleased at the violation of ceremonial etiquette
which she was committing. It was noticed that the Emperor, on the other
hand, took no notice whatsoever of the foreigners, and seemed to be sunk
in a deep, listless melancholy.
The second occasion was after the Empress Dowager’s visit to the Western
Tombs in April, 1903, four days after the death of her faithful friend
and adviser, Jung Lu. On this occasion Her Majesty appeared to be in
very low spirits, descending from the train slowly, and with none of her
wonted vivacity. She greeted Kuei Hsiang, her brother, who was kneeling
on the platform to receive her, with one curt sentence, “You have killed
Jung Lu by recommending that useless doctor,” and passed on to her chair
without another word. It was on this occasion, receiving certain foreign
ladies in the travelling Palace erected for her at Pao-ting fu, that the
Old Buddha alluded directly to the massacres of foreign missionaries
which had taken place in that city, “with which she had, of course,
nothing to do.” No doubt by this time, and by force of repetition, Tzŭ
Hsi had persuaded herself of her complete innocence; but however this may
be, she undoubtedly won over most of the foreigners with whom she came in
contact, by the charm and apparent sincerity of her manner.
Before settling down to the accustomed routine of life in the Palace, the
Empress Dowager, whose _penchant_ for personal explanation in Imperial
Edicts seemed to be growing upon her, issued a Decree which gained for
her renewed sympathy from all classes of Chinese officials. After the
usual exhortations to her faithful subjects to co-operate loyally in
her schemes for Reform, to put off the old bad ways and to persist
energetically in well-doing, she gives a graphic description of the
hardships which she and the Emperor endured during her compulsory “tour
to the West.” After referring to the unforgettable shocks and sorrows of
that journey, the Edict says:—
“I have now returned once more to my Palace and find the
ancestral Temples reposing as of old in dignified and unbroken
serenity. Beneath the deep awe which overcomes me in the
presence of my glorious ancestors my soul feels an added
weight of grief and remorse, and I only hope that by Heaven’s
continued favour I may yet live to accomplish some meritorious
work.”
And again, in a later passage, after referring to the drought which had
brought Shensi and Shansi to the verge of famine, she says:—
“The Empire has come upon days of dire financial distress,
and my people have been compelled to find funds for me from
their very life blood; ill would it be for me to requite
their loyalty by further levies of taxation, and the Throne
is therefore bound to curtail its ordinary expenditure and to
make strict economy its guiding rule for the future. With the
exception of such repairs as are necessary to the Temples and
ancestral shrines, I hereby command that no expenditure be
incurred for repairs or decoration of the Palaces, except in
cases of absolute necessity.”
XXIV
HER MAJESTY’S NEW POLICY
The crisis of 1900, all the horror of that abomination of desolation in
her Capital and the hardships of her wandering in the wilderness, had
brought home to the Empress the inherent weakness of her country and
the stern necessity for remedial measures. Already, before the issue of
the penitential Decree, quoted in an earlier chapter, she had announced
to the world, with characteristic decision, her intention to adopt new
measures and to break with those hoary traditions of the past which, as
she had learned, were the first cause of the rottenness of the State.
Her subsequent policy became in fact (though she was careful never to
admit it) a justification of those very measures which the Emperor had
so enthusiastically inaugurated in 1898, but her methods differed from
his in that she omitted no precaution for conciliating the conflicting
interests about the Throne and for disarming the opposition of the
_intransigeants_ of the provinces.
The first intimation of Her Majesty’s conversion to new ideals of
Government was given to the world in an Edict issued at Hsi-an on the
28th January, 1901, in the name of the Emperor. This document, drafted
with the assistance of Jung Lu, is a remarkable example of Tzŭ Hsi’s
masculine intelligence and statecraft, though somewhat marred by those
long-winded repetitions in which Chinese Edicts abound. It was received
with enthusiastic delight by the _literati_ throughout the Empire, even
in Canton and the southern provinces, where, at the moment, Her Majesty
was not personally popular. The vernacular Press claimed it as the most
striking Edict in Chinese history. It combined an eloquent appeal to
the people to accept the principle of reform together with a masterful
justification of China and her people _vis-à-vis_ the outside world.
It was most skilfully worded so as to placate all parties in the State
and thus to enhance the reputation of the Old Buddha. The “Young China”
party was particularly enthusiastic, for by this Decree Her Majesty
definitely abandoned the principle of absolute autocracy which had been
for centuries the corner-stone of the Chinese system of government. It
was realised that so complete a departure from the traditions of the
Manchu Dynasty, of the Imperial Clan and of all her previous convictions,
could not have been attained but for the bitter lessons of 1900, and,
admiration was therefore the more keen for the skill and courage with
which, on the verge of old age, she resumed the burden of government in
her ravaged capital. It was the ruling passion bravely asserted, and
the sympathy of the nation could hardly be withheld from a ruler who
thus bore her share in the national humiliation, who so frankly accepted
responsibility for past errors and promised new and better methods for
the future.
It was, of course, inevitable, in the light of all experience, that many
of her subjects, as well as most foreigners, should doubt her sincerity,
and should regard this Edict, like many others, as a case of “when the
devil was sick.” But gradually, after the return of the Court, as it
became clear to her immediate retainers and high officials that this
self-confident woman was really in earnest, and as she continued steadily
to impress her new policy upon the reluctant Clansmen, her popularity
with the people at large, and especially in the south (where it had been
much damaged by her fierce suppression of the Cantonese reformers of
1898), was gradually restored. From this time forward to the end of her
life, whatever may have been the good or bad faith of her advisers and
chief officials, every act of her career is stamped with unmistakable
signs of her sincerity in the cause of reform, borne out by her recorded
words and deeds.
From the Boxer movement she had learned at a bitter cost the lesson
she was now putting into practice, but for all that she remained to
the end faithful in her affection for the memory of the Boxer leaders;
to the last she never failed to praise their loyalty to her person and
the patriotic bravery of their attempt to expel the foreigner. But she
had been compelled to learn in the hard school of experience the utter
hopelessness of that attempt, and she was forced to the conclusion that,
for the future, and until China should be strong enough, all anti-foreign
proceedings must be suppressed.
Unflinchingly, therefore, she announced to her people a change of front
unparalleled in the history of China. Certain it is (as was fully proved
in the case of the Emperor in 1898) that no other ruler of the Dynasty
could have proclaimed such drastic changes without causing serious
dissensions and possibly civil war. But so masterly were her methods of
dealing with the necessities of the situation, and so forcibly did the
style and arguments of her Decrees appeal to the _literati_, that they
carried very general conviction. Even the most bigoted Confucianists were
won by her subtle suggestions as to what would have been the attitude of
the Sage himself if confronted by such problems as the nation had now to
face.
The text of the Decree recording her conversion is interesting:—
“Throughout the entire universe there exist certain fixed
principles which govern the conduct of men, but nowhere do we
find any finally fixed form of government. It is written in
the Book of Changes[122] that when any given condition of
affairs has run its natural course, and has been succeeded by
another, there is no saying how long this new state may last;
also in the Dialogues of Confucius it is written, that there
is no difficulty in tracing the changes and reforms which each
Dynasty has made in regard to the methods of its predecessors.
Certain things remain ever unchanged, namely, the three
fundamental bonds, between Sovereign and subject, father and
son, husband and wife; also the five great moral obligations.
These vary not, but are all as the sun and moon, enlightening
the world. But in other matters there should be no fixed
objection to change, no hide-bound finality of ideas; to obtain
music from a lute or guitar one must touch all the strings.
Each Dynasty in turn, since the beginning of time, has seen fit
to introduce changes and has abolished certain customs of its
predecessors; our own ancestors have set us many an example in
modifying their conduct to meet the exigencies of their day.
The system which prevailed at the date when first the Manchus
captured Peking was very different from that in vogue when
Moukden was the capital of our Empire.
“Looking at the matter broadly, we may observe that any system
which has lasted too long is in danger of becoming stereotyped,
and things that are obsolete should be modified. The essential
need which confronts us is at all costs to strengthen our
Empire and to improve the condition of our subjects. Ever
since our journey to the West the Empress Dowager has been
over-burdened with the labours and cares of the State.[123]
“Bitterly have we reproached ourselves with the thought that
for the past twenty years abuses have steadily been increasing,
while means of suppressing them have been continually put off
until, at last, the state of our country has become parlous
indeed. At this moment, when peace negotiations are proceeding,
it is a matter of urgent necessity that steps be taken to
reorganise our system of government so that hereafter our
Celestial Empire may recover its ancient place of wealth and
power. The Empress Dowager has now decided that we should
correct our shortcomings by adopting the best methods and
systems which obtain in foreign countries, basing our future
conduct upon a wise recognition of past errors.
“Ever since the 23rd and 24th years of Kuang Hsü (1897
and 1898) there has been no lack of plans for reform, and
suggestions of administrative change, but they have all been
marked by vagueness and foolish looseness of thought. The
crisis which was brought about in 1898 by the arch-traitor
K’ang Yu-wei was in its possible consequences even more
dangerous than the evil which has since been brought about
by the unholy arts of the Boxers. To this day Kang and his
associates continue to preach treason and to disturb the public
mind by means of their writings from overseas. The object of
their writings is simply anarchy, nor do they scruple to use
catchwords which, while apparently appealing to the patriotism
of our people, are really intended to create dissension. Thus
they talk of the “defence of the Empire” and the “protection
of the Chinese race,” and many of their dupes fail to realise
that their main object is not reform, but a revolution against
the Manchu Dynasty, and that they hope to create ill-feeling
between the Empress Dowager and the Emperor. With treacherous
cunning those conspirators took advantage of our weak state of
health, and we were therefore glad when at our urgent request
Her Majesty the Empress Dowager resumed the Regency. With
amazing rapidity she grasped all the needs of the situation and
delivered us from imminent peril, visiting swift punishment
upon those traitors. But, whilst ridding the State of these
evil-doers it was never Her Majesty’s wish or intention
to block reform measures, whilst we, on our side, though
recognising the necessity for change in certain directions,
were never guilty of any desire to abolish all the ancient ways
of our ancestors. Our loyal subjects must recognise that it has
been Her Majesty’s invariable wish, and our own, to follow the
happy mean, we, as mother and son, being in complete accord, to
steer a wise middle course between conflicting policies.
“We have to-day received Her Majesty’s orders, and learn that
she is now thoroughly bent on radical reform. Nevertheless,
whilst we are convinced of the necessity of blending in
one harmonious form of administration the best customs and
traditions of Chinese and European Governments, there is to
be no talk of reaction or revolution. The chief defect in our
system of administration is undoubtedly too close an adherence
to obsolete methods, a too slavish devotion to the written
word; the result is a surfeit of commonplace and inefficient
officials, and a deplorable lack of men of real talent. The
average commonplace man makes a god of the written word,
whilst every bureaucrat in the land regards it as a talisman
wherewith to fill his purse, so that we have huge mountains
of correspondence eternally growing up between one government
office and another, the value of which is absolutely _nil_
so far as any good to the country is concerned. On the other
hand men of real ability lose heart and give up the public
service in disgust, prevented from coming to the front by the
mass of inefficiency that blocks the way. Our whole system of
government has come to grief through corruption, and the first
steps of progress in our Empire are clogged by the fatal word
‘Precedent.’
“Up to the present the study of European methods has gone
no further than a superficial knowledge of the languages,
literature and mechanical arts of the West, but it must be
evident that these things are not the essentials upon which
European civilisation has been founded. The essential spirit
of that civilisation is to be looked for in the fact that
real sympathy and understanding exists between rulers and
people, that officials are required to be truthful in word
and courageous in action. The teachings handed down to us by
our sacred ancestors are really the same as those upon which
the wealth and power of European countries have been based,
but China has hitherto failed to realise this and has been
content to acquire the rudiments of European languages or
technicalities, while changing nothing of her ancient habits
of inefficiency and deep-rooted corruption. Ignoring our real
needs we have so far taken from Europe nothing but externals;
how can we possibly hope to advance on such lines? Any reforms
to be effective and permanent must be made with a real desire
for efficiency and honesty.
“We therefore hereby decree and command that the officials
concerned shall now make close enquiry and comparison as
to the various systems of government in force in European
countries with special reference to those which obtain in China
to-day, not only as regards the constitution of the Court and
central government, but also concerning those things which
make for the prosperity of our subjects, such as the system of
examinations and education, the administration of the army and
the regulation of finance. They will be required to report as
to what changes are advisable and what institutions should be
abolished; what methods we should adopt from abroad and what
existing Chinese institutions should be retained. The things we
chiefly need are a constant supply of men of talent, a sound
basis of national finance, and an efficient army. Reports on
these matters must be forwarded within two months, and upon
them we shall humbly address Her Majesty, and ask for her
decision before we take any definite action.
“Whilst the Court was in residence at T’ai-yüan we urgently
called upon our subjects to assist us, and many Memorials were
received, but as a general rule the advice they tendered was
either stupid plagiarism taken from newspaper articles or else
the narrow and bigoted views of untravelled scholars. They
frequently sounded quite reasonable, but were in reality sheer
nonsense, their principal characteristic being overweening
conceit, which effectively prevented any breadth of argument.
Very few of the suggestions advanced were practicable, for
the reason that in recommending any course of action writers
laid stress upon its alleged advantages without realising its
drawbacks. There are many who talk glibly of reform and the
wealth and power of foreign States, but deceive themselves
as to the real origin of all knowledge; on the other hand
your bigoted Confucianist will discourse endlessly upon the
doctrines of the Sages, without in the least realising the
needs of the present day. It is now for you, our officials, to
steer a reasonable midway course, avoiding both these defects
in submitting your proposals. We desire that your views shall
be elaborated in the fullest detail for our consideration in
determining upon a course of action.
“The first essential, however, more important even than the
devising of new systems, is to secure men of administrative
ability. Without talent no system can be made to succeed. If
the letter of our projected reforms be not illuminated and
guided by this spirit of efficiency in our officials then must
all our hopes of reforming the State disappear into the limbo
of lost ideals. We fully recognise that foolish adherence
to the system of promotion by seniority has been one of the
main factors in bringing about a condition of affairs that
is almost incurable. If we would now be rid of it, our first
step evidently is to think no more of selfish interests, but
to consider the commonwealth only and to secure efficiency
by some new and definite method, so that competent persons
only may be in charge of public affairs. But if you, our
officials, continue to cling to your ancient ways, following
the ruts of procrastination and slothful ease; should you
persist in evading responsibility, serving the State with empty
catch-words while you batten on the fruits of your misdeeds,
assuredly the punishment which the law provides stands ready,
and no mercy will be shown you! Let this Decree be promulgated
throughout the land.”
It will be observed that in this Decree the Emperor is made to renounce
and condemn the Reformers of 1898 and all their works. This, however
sincerely convinced Her Majesty might be of the necessity for remedial
measures, was only natural. For it was never one of the weaknesses of
this masterful woman to make direct confession of error for the benefit
of her own immediate entourage; not thus is prestige maintained in the
atmosphere of an Oriental Court. She was now prepared to adopt many of
the reforms which K’ang Yu-wei and his friends had advocated, but for
all-important purposes of “face” it must be made quite clear that, in
her hands, they were something radically different and superior. In
promulgating her new opinions she could not afford to say anything which
might be construed as direct justification of that reform movement which
she herself had so ruthlessly suppressed. And so the “stupid people”
must clearly understand that her present programme was by no means
“revolutionary” like that of K’ang Yu-wei and his fellow-“conspirators.”
Nevertheless, her proposals for reform went as far as theirs, and, in
some cases, even further, the only real difference being that in this
case she, the Old Buddha, was a prime mover, where before she had been an
opponent.
Looking back on the six years of her life and rule which followed the
return from exile, there can be but little doubt of the sincerity of her
conversion to reform, although there is no reason to believe that her
sentiments towards foreigners had undergone any change for the better.
The lesson which had been brought home to her with crushing force in the
rise and fall of the Boxer movement and in the capture of Peking, was
that national inefficiency means national extinction, a lesson which not
all the statesmen of western lands have fully learned. She had realised
that the material forces of the western world were not to be met and
overthrown by quotations from the classics, and that, if China was to
continue to exist as an independent State she must follow the example of
Japan and put her house in order with equipment and defences adapted from
western models. And with Tzŭ Hsi to realise was to act, a quality which,
more than all others, distinguished her from the ruck of her Manchu
kinsmen and officials, sunk in their lethargic fatalism and helplessness.
The situation which confronted her at the outset was anything but simple.
Apart from the time-honoured privileges of the Imperial clans, whose
arrogant ignorance she had come to appreciate at its proper value, she
must needs be cautious in handling the susceptibilities of the provincial
gentry and _literati_, the backbone of China’s collective intelligence.
At the same time, as far as the foreign Powers were concerned, she must
be careful to preserve to the full that dignity on which her prestige
with her own people depended, that “_l’empire c’est moi_” attitude which
had been rudely shaken by the events of 1900. Not as the chastened
penitent would she appear in their eyes, but as the innocent and injured
victim of circumstances beyond her control. There were, in fact, several
distinct rôles to be played, and none of them were easy.
The Edict issued from Hsi-an in February 1901 had been warmly applauded
by scholars throughout the Empire as a literary feat of the first order,
but most of the provincial officials (justified by all tradition and
experience) regarded it as merely a classical “obiter dictum,” and
proceeded, therefore, in their old way, certain in their minds that the
Old Buddha was only amusing herself, as was her wont, by throwing dust in
the eyes of the barbarian, and that she would not be displeased if her
lieutenants were to proceed slowly in carrying them into effect. Unto
the end, even in the face of the earnest exhortations of her valedictory
Decree, there were many provincial officials who, for reasons of personal
prejudice and self-interest, professed to believe that the Old Buddha had
been merely playing a part, but we can find nothing in her official or
private record during these six years to justify that belief. Just before
her return to Peking she issued an Edict in which her own convictions
were very clearly indicated:—
“Ever since my sudden departure from the capital a year ago,”
she declared, “I have not ceased for a moment to brood over the
causes of our national misfortunes and to feel deep remorse.
Now, thanks to the protection of our tutelary deities, I am
about to return to the capital. Whenever I think of the reasons
for our undoing and the causes of our collective weakness I
sincerely deplore the fact that I have not long ago introduced
the necessary reforms, but I am now fully determined to put
in force all possible measures for the reform of the State.
Abandoning our former prejudices, we must proceed to adopt the
best European methods of government. I am firmly determined to
work henceforward on practical lines, so as to deliver the
Empire from its present rotten state. Some of the necessary
measures will naturally require longer periods of preparation
than others, but after my return to Peking they must one and
all gradually be introduced.
“In view of the urgent importance of this matter, Jung Lu and
his colleagues have urged me to make a clear statement of my
intentions and to declare without possibility of hesitation
or doubt the irrevocable decision of the Throne, so that
every official in the land may be stimulated to sincere and
unremitting co-operation. For this reason I issue the present
Decree solemnly recording my opinion that the condition of the
Empire permits of no further evasion or delay in the matter
of reform. Therein lies our only hope for the future. Myself
and the Emperor, in the interests of all that we hold dear,
have no alternative but to face, and steadily to pursue, this
new policy; we must make up our minds what are the things to
strive for, and employ the right men to help us to attain them.
We are, as mother and son, of one mind, endeavouring only to
restore our fallen fortunes. You, our people, can best serve by
united efforts to this end.”
Tzŭ Hsi had not only realised the immense superiority of the material
forces of the western world, but she had also been convinced of the
immense intellectual and political forces which education and increased
means of communication were steadily creating amongst her own subjects,
forces with which, as she perceived, the effete and ignorant Manchus
would have to reckon sooner or later. It is quite plain from her Edicts
on this delicate subject that she realised clearly the dangers which
threatened the Manchu rule. She saw that their class privileges, the
right to tribute, and all the other benefits of sovereignty which the
founders of the Dynasty had won by force of arms and opportunity, had now
become an anachronism, and must in the near future involve the Manchus
themselves in serious dangers and difficulties, unless, by fusion, means
could be found to avert them. Among the rules laid down by the founders
of the Dynasty for the maintenance of the pure Manchu stock, was that
which forbade intermarriage with Chinese. This law, though frequently
violated in the garrisons of the south, had remained generally effective
within the Metropolitan province, where it had served its purpose of
maintaining the ruling class and its caste. But the Empress had now come
to understand that if China was to be preserved as a sovereign State,
it must be rather by means of Chinese energy and intelligence grafted
on to the Manchu stock, than by the latter’s separate initiative. In
January 1902, immediately after her return to Peking, she gave effect
to her convictions on this subject in a remarkable Decree whereby she
recommended that, for the future, Manchus and Chinese should intermarry.
“At the time of the founding of our Dynasty,” she says, “the customs
and languages of the two races were greatly different, and this was
in itself reason sufficient for prohibiting intermarriage. But at the
present day, little or no difference exists between them, and the time
has come, therefore, to relax this law for the benefit of the Empire as
a whole, and in accordance with the wishes of our people.” In the same
Edict Her Majesty deprecated the Chinese custom, which the Manchus had
never adopted, of foot-binding, and urged that the educated classes
should unite to oppose a custom so injurious to health and inhuman in
practice. There was, however, to be no compulsion in this matter. In one
respect only did she desire to adhere to the exclusive Manchu traditions,
namely, as regards the selection of secondary wives for the Imperial
harem, who must continue to be chosen exclusively from Manchu families;
she did not desire “to incur any risk of confusion or dissension in the
Palace, nor to fall into the error committed by the Ming Dynasty, in the
indiscriminate selection of concubines, a matter affecting the direct and
legitimate succession to the Throne.” Nor would she expose her kinsmen
to the risk of conspiracy against the Dynasty which would certainly
occur if the daughters of the great Chinese houses were admitted to the
Palace. The law had been laid down once and for all by Nurhachu, and it
was binding on every occupant of the Dragon Throne, namely, “no Manchu
eunuchs, no Chinese concubines.”
Her next step, in a decree which frankly deplored the hopeless ignorance
of her kinsmen, was to authorise the Imperial clansmen and nobles to send
their sons to be educated abroad, so that perchance the lump of their
inefficiency might yet be leavened. Eligible youths, between the ages of
fifteen and twenty-five, and of good physique, were to be selected and
their expenses would be defrayed by the Government.
This much for the Manchus; but in regard to the whole question of
education, which she declared to be the very root of all China’s
difficulties, she perceived, after prolonged consultations with Yüan
Shih-k’ai and Chang Chih-tung, that so long as the classical system
continued, with its strong hold of tradition upon the masses, it must
constitute the chief obstacle to any effective reform of the body
politic. After much careful deliberation she decided that unless the
whole system of classical examinations were abolished, root and branch,
no tinkering with western learning could be of any practical use. The
ancient system of arguing in a circle, which for over two centuries had
characterised the ideal essay and hypnotised the ideal official, must
undoubtedly triumph over all other educational methods, so long as it
remained part of the official curriculum. Her Majesty took pains to point
out by Edict that colleges had undoubtedly existed in the days of that
model ruler, the Regent Duke Chou, more than two thousand five hundred
years ago, on lines not greatly different from those of the foreign
Universities of the present day; she proved also that the classical
essay system was, so to speak, quite a recent innovation, having been
introduced for the first time under the Ming Dynasty, about A.D. 1390.
Eventually, in 1904, upon the advice of Yüan Shih-k’ai, approved by
Chang Chih-tung, a Decree was issued finally abolishing the old system
of examinations and making graduation at one of the modern colleges the
only recognised path to official employment. At the same time, realising
that the training of students in Japan, which had been proceeding on
a very large scale, had produced a body of revolutionary scholars
most undesirable in the eyes of the Government, she gave orders that
arrangements should be made for sending more students in future to Europe
and America.
This epoch-making announcement was followed by several other important
Decrees, notably that which ordered the complete abolition of the opium
traffic within a period of ten years, a Decree, which, embodying a
sincere and powerful consensus of public opinion, has produced most
unexpected results, marvellously creditable to the moral sense and
recuperative energies of the Chinese race. The contrast is most striking
between the widespread reform effected under this Edict, and the almost
complete failure of those which set forth to reform the Metropolitan
administration; these, thanks to the steady passive resistance of the
mandarin in possession, resulted merely in perpetuating the old abuses
under new names. The one new Ministry created at that time, and saluted
by foreigners as a sign of genuine progress, was that of Posts and
Communications (Yu-Ch’uan pu), which has been a byword for corrupt
practices since its establishment, and a laughing stock among the Chinese
themselves for inefficiency and extravagance.
After dealing with education, the Old Buddha turned her attention to a
question which had frequently figured in recent Memorials of progressive
officials, namely, the abolition of torture and other abuses prevalent
in the so-called judicial system of the Empire. She realised that if
China were ever to obtain the consent of the western Powers to the
abolition of the foreigner’s rights of extra-territoriality, she must
devise and enforce civil and criminal codes similar to those of civilised
countries. Her Edict on this subject, though in form excellent, seems
to lack something of the conviction which marks her other Decrees of
this period; it is very different, for instance, from those dealing with
the abolition of opium and the reform of education. Its principles were
obviously contrary to all her previous ideas and practice, and it is only
fair to say that its result, in spite of much drafting of codes, has
been little or none, as far as the barbarous practices of the provincial
Yamêns are concerned. She decreed that, pending the introduction of the
criminal code, decapitation should be the extreme penalty of the law;
dismemberment and mutilation were to be abolished as barbarous; branding,
flogging, and the vicarious punishment of relatives were to cease. These
savage penalties, she observed, were originally introduced into China
under the Ming Dynasty, and had only been adopted by the Manchus, with
other Chinese customs, against their own more merciful instincts.
Finally, in deference to the unmistakable and growing tendencies of
public opinion in the south, Tzŭ Hsi took the first steps towards
the introduction of constitutional government by sending an Imperial
Commission (under Duke Tsai Tsê) to study the various systems in force
in foreign countries, and their results. The return of this Mission was
followed in the autumn of 1905 by the issue of the famous Decree in which
she definitely announced her intention to grant a constitution, which
should come into effect sooner or later, according to circumstances and
the amount of energy or procrastination displayed by the officials and
people in preparing themselves for the change. As an example of subtle
argument calculated to appeal to the Chinese mind, the document is a
masterpiece in its way. It says:—
“Ever since the foundation of the Dynasty one wise sovereign
after another has handed down sage counsels to posterity;
it has always been their guiding principle that methods
of Government should be modified and adapted to meet the
exigencies of the moment and changing conditions. China’s
great and increasing danger to-day is largely due to her
unwise adherence to antiquated methods; if we do not amend
our educational and political systems, we shall be violating
the spirit which animated our Imperial ancestors, and shall
disappoint the best hopes of our people. Our Imperial
Commissioners have reported to us that the prosperity and
power of foreign nations are largely due to principles of
constitutional government based on the will of the people,
which assures bonds of union and sympathy between the Sovereign
and his subjects. It is therefore our duty to consider by what
means such a Constitution may be granted as shall retain the
sovereign power in the hands of the Throne, and at the same
time give effect to the wishes of the people in matters of
administration. Our State being at present unprepared, and our
people uneducated, any undue haste is inadvisable, and would
lead to no practical results. We must first reform the official
system, following this by the introduction of new laws, new
methods of education, finance and military organisations,
together with a police system, so that officials and people may
come to realise what executive government means as a foundation
and preparation for the granting of a Constitution.”
It was not to be expected that even Tzŭ Hsi could frame so radical and
comprehensive a programme of change without incurring the strongest
opposition and criticism of those to whom the established order meant
loaves and fishes: at Peking, however, owing to the absence of an
outspoken press, the opposition ran beneath the surface, exercised in
the time-honoured form of dogged adherence to the ancient methods by
the officials and bureaucrats on whose goodwill all reform ultimately
depends. Against anyone less masterful and less popular than Tzŭ Hsi
the Clansmen would undoubtedly have concerted other and more forcible
measures, but they knew their Old Buddha and went in wholesome fear
of her wrath. It was only her exceptional position and authority
that enabled her to introduce the machinery for the establishment of
constitutional government, based on the Japanese model, and there is
reason to believe that even at this moment many conservative Manchus do
not regard that measure seriously.
But despite the promise of constitutional government, public opinion in
the south, never restrained in its utterances by the free-lances of the
vernacular press of Hongkong and Shanghai, was outspoken in condemnation
of Her Majesty’s new policy, criticising her policy in general on the
ground of her undignified truckling to Europeans. Lacking alike her
masculine intelligence and courageous recognition of hard facts, making
no allowance for the difficulties with which she was encompassed, and
animated in many instances by a very real hatred of the Manchu rule, they
attacked her in unmeasured terms of abuse; while the foreign press of
the Treaty Ports, naturally suspicious of her motives and mindful of her
share in the anti-foreign rising, was also generally unsympathetic, if
not hostile. In both cases knowledge of the woman’s virility and vitality
was lacking. Her critics failed to realise that, like most mortals, the
Empress was a mixture of good and bad, of wisdom and error, largely
swayed by circumstances and the human equations around her, as well as by
an essentially feminine quality of mutability; but withal, and above all,
a born leader of men and a politician of the very first order.
The following extracts from articles published in the Shanghai press
at that time, throw an instructive light on the spirit of Young China
(like that of the Babu of India) as displayed in its anti-Manchu
proclivities and bigoted chauvinism. One critic, taking for his text the
entertainments given by Her Majesty to the Foreign Legations, wrote:—
“There can be no objection to giving a banquet to anyone who
is likely to be grateful and show some return for hospitality,
but what possible good purpose can be served by feasting
those who treat you with suspicion? We Chinese are wont to
despise our ignorant rustics when they display servility to
foreigners, but what is to be said when one in the exalted
position of the Empress Dowager demeans herself by being on
terms of affectionate intimacy with the wives of Foreign
Ministers, and even with women belonging to the commercial and
lower classes? Nowadays foreign food is served at the Palace
in a dining-room decked out in European style: the guests at
these entertainments thank their Imperial hostess on taking
leave, and the very next day their Legations will furiously
rage against China at our Foreign Office. Therefore, as for
moderating their barbarous ways, her food and her wines are
simply wasted. As a matter of fact, these guests of hers do not
scruple to compare her banquets of to-day with the melons and
vegetables which she sent to the Legations during the siege, a
comparison by no means flattering to Her Majesty. The thing is
becoming a scandal. When Russia poured out entertainments in
honour of Li Hung-chang she got something for her money; can
it be that Her Majesty is looking to similar results in the
present case for herself?”
Another critic, nearer the truth as we know, doubted whether the Empress
Dowager was in reality enamoured of foreign ways, and whether she was
not simulating good relations, while preparing some deep-laid scheme of
future revenge.
“It is scarcely credible,” he observed, “that, at her time of
life, she should be able to change all her habits and form ties
so completely alien to her education and nature. Would not the
foreigners naturally ask themselves whether she was likely to
cherish any real affection for people who had plundered her
palace and had forced her to hand over to the executioners her
most faithful and trusted officials?”
This writer had difficulty, however, in believing that she contemplated
another Boxer movement and frankly confessed himself perplexed.
“As Her Majesty’s chief occupation at the present time would
appear to be to accumulate money at all costs rather than to
reorganise and strengthen the resources of the Empire, her
ultimate object may well be to secure that whatever happens,
her old age shall be comfortably provided for.”
Nevertheless, unheeding of criticism and strong in the wisdom of her own
convictions, Tzŭ Hsi continued steadily on the lines which she had laid
down as necessary for the future safety of the Empire. It was not to be
expected that even her strong personality could overcome in a day the
entrenched forces of native prejudice and conservatism within and without
the palace. At the time of her death many of the chief strongholds of
the ancient system (_e.g._, the power of the eunuchs and the organised
corruption of officials) remained practically uncriticised and untouched;
but at her passing she had marked out a rough course by which, if
faithfully followed, the ship of State might yet be safely steered
through the rocks and shallows of the dangerous seas ahead.
XXV
THE VALEDICTORY MEMORIAL OF JUNG LU
The death of Jung Lu was a great grief to the Empress Dowager. In
the course of her long life there was hardly any crisis or important
event of her reign wherein she had not been greatly assisted by this
devoted follower. Upon hearing of his death she issued a Decree from
the Travelling Palace at Pao-ting-fu, praising the patriotism and
clear-sighted intelligence of the deceased, who, since the beginning
of his career as an honorary licentiate had risen to be Controller of
the Imperial Household, Tartar General and Viceroy, in all of which
capacities he had rendered signal service. At the time of his death he
had attained to the highest honours open to a subject in China, namely,
the position of Grand Secretary and Grand Councillor. In this Decree
Her Majesty laid particular stress on his endeavours to promote a good
understanding with the foreign Powers in 1900. Further, in token of her
affectionate regard, she bestowed upon him a coverlet with charms worked
thereon from the Dharani Sutra in Sanscrit and Thibetan, to be used as
a pall for his burial, and she commanded Prince Kung to proceed to the
residence of the deceased, with ten officers of the Imperial Guard, to
perform a sacrifice on her behalf to the soul of the departed statesman.
She granted him the posthumous designation of “learned and loyal,”
together with the highest hereditary rank open to one who had not been
a victorious military commander or a member of the Imperial Clan. His
ancestral tablet was given a place at the Shrine of Good and Virtuous
Officials, and three thousand taels (£350) were issued from the privy
purse towards his funeral expenses.
Jung Lu’s valedictory Memorial has never been published in China, but
those in attendance on Her Majesty reported that it affected her very
deeply. On the day after it reached her, she issued the following Decree:—
“The deceased Grand Secretary, Jung Lu, was our senior Grand
Councillor at a time of critical danger to the State, and his
sage counsel and eminent services to the Throne have never been
sufficiently appreciated either in China or abroad. He was
absolutely indispensable to us, and we depended entirely upon
his advice. Two months ago, owing to his ill-health, we were
compelled to grant him leave of absence, but, unfortunately,
all remedies have proved unavailing, and he has passed away.
We have perused his valedictory Memorial, full of a deep and
touching earnestness in regard to the future of our Empire
and the condition of the Chinese people; and in recalling all
the incidents of his distinguished career the violence of our
grief can only find expression in tears. Following upon the
posthumous honours already conferred upon him, we hereby decree
that a second Imperial sacrifice shall be offered to his spirit
on the day before his remains are removed for burial, and,
furthermore, that the record of his life be transmitted to the
Historiographers’ Department for inclusion in the annals of our
Dynasty. All faults that may have been recorded against him
shall be expunged, so that the depth of our sincere affection
for this faithful servant may be made manifest.”
Jung Lu was sixty-seven years of age at the date of his death (April
11th, 1903), and it is probable that had it not been for the severe
hardships and mental strain which he endured during the Boxer crisis, he
would have lived much longer to serve his Imperial mistress. By his death
Prince Ch’ing and his corrupt following rose to increased power (Prince
Ch’ing being the only available Manchu of rank sufficient to succeed
Jung Lu as head of the Grand Council), and they have retained it, in the
subterranean labyrinths of Palace intrigues, ever since.
Jung Lu was essentially a middle-course man, striving earnestly for that
“happy mean” which the Empress Dowager professed to desire. Had he lived,
it is safe to say that he would not have approved of the haste with which
she proceeded to sanction the undigested programme for constitutional
government, and with his advice against it the Old Buddha would probably
not have persisted in the idea. He had repeatedly urged her, before
the return of the Court, to make it quite clear in her Edicts that a
reform policy was necessary for the preservation of the Empire, but,
like the late Prince Ito, he was all for a slow and cautious procedure,
and present-day observers of events connected with the constitutional
government programme can hardly doubt the wisdom of his advice.
The following is a translation of his, hitherto unpublished, valedictory
Memorial, a document which throws valuable light on the _coup d’état_
and the relations between Tzŭ Hsi and the Emperor at that time. In other
respects it confirms many conclusions wherein Jung Lu’s authoritative
testimony was lacking to complete an otherwise satisfactory chain of
evidence.
“I, your slave, Jung Lu, a Grand Councillor and Grand Secretary
of the Wen Hua Throne Hall, having grievously failed to
requite the favours of your Majesties, now that my breath
is almost spent, respectfully upon my knees do present this
my valedictory Memorial, and beg that your Majesties may be
pleased to cast your divine glance upon it.
“I, all unworthy, have received no small bounty at the hands
of your Majesty the Empress Dowager, and had hoped that Heaven
might grant me length of days, wherein to display my utmost
endeavour in your Majesty’s service. Respectfully I recall
the fact that I began my career of service as an Imperial
guardsman, and was on duty with H.M. Hsien-Feng in his
excursion to the hunting park at Mulan (Jehol) in the tenth
year of his reign. At that time the situation of the Empire was
one of great danger; within there was the grave peril of the
rebellion, while from without the English and French barbarians
had captured our sacred capital. We witnessed the violation of
the Imperial shrines and saw the sacred chariot of His Majesty
leave Peking, in accordance with the principle laid down by
Mencius that a sovereign should leave his capital when it is
threatened by invasion of barbarians.
“After the Court’s arrival at Jehol, I had the honour of
attending on your Majesty the Empress Dowager as Chamberlain,
and when His Majesty Hsien-Feng lay on his deathbed, I had the
honour to warn your Majesty and the Empress Consort that the
Princes Cheng and Yi were conspiring against the State. After
the death of His Majesty, those wicked Princes usurped the
Regency and for many days your Majesty was in danger so great
that it may not be spoken of by any loyal subject. Happily,
your Majesty, acting on your own firm initiative and by the
favour of Heaven, dealt with those abominable traitors in the
twinkling of an eye and rescued the State from its dire peril.
For years thereafter you carried on the Regency, rebellions
were suppressed and peace reigned within the four seas.
“Your slave received many marks of the Imperial favour and
rose to be Minister of the Household; I was thus constantly in
attendance on your Majesty. When the late Emperor T’ung-Chih
mounted the dragon and ascended on high, it was to me that
your Majesty confided the duty of bringing the present Emperor
Kuang-Hsü to the Palace. Favours vast as the universe have I
received, and for these I have made no return.
“While acting as Captain General of the Peking Gendarmerie,
I incurred your Majesty’s displeasure; thereafter for seven
years I awaited, without incurring, the fitting penalty for
my offence. Later, when His Majesty came to his majority
and you were pleased to hand over to him the reins of
government, you conferred on me the post of Tartar General
at Hsi-an. Subsequently I was recalled to my former position
at the capital. In the 24th year of Kuang-Hsü (1898) your
Majesties determined on the introduction of European methods
of government and the Emperor summoned me to audience and
conferred on me the post of Viceroy of Chihli at Tientsin
where I was ordered to select and introduce reforms based on
foreign methods in order to remedy the weakness of China’s
administration. But who could then have believed that the
damnable treasons of K’ang Yu-wei should be the means of
thwarting your Majesties’ great plans? His Majesty the
Emperor, by giving ear to the lying inventions of that traitor
and his associates, if only for a little while, undoubtedly
allowed his filial piety to suffer temporary decline. This was
particularly the case when he wrote with his own Imperial hand
a Decree stating that his reform proposals were being blocked
by your Majesty and that, as you were opposed to the spirit of
progress, your interference in State affairs was a danger to
the nation. Towards me also His Majesty displayed his divine
wrath, so that once more had your slave deserved the penalty of
‘axes and halberds.’ But when I sought your Majesty in secret
audience and laid before you the details of the plot, once more
did your Majesty, without a moment’s hesitation respond to our
prayer and resume the control of affairs, swiftly visiting upon
evildoers of that treacherous crew the might of your august
displeasure.
“In the 26th year of Kuang-Hsü, certain Princes and Ministers,
statesmen deficient in virtue, gained your Majesty’s ear, and
even your divine wisdom was misled to believe in the unholy
arts and magic of the Boxers until the ancestral shrines were
the centre of cataclysmic disaster and the destinies of the
Empire trembled in the balance. Again and again I besought your
Majesty to put an end to these traitors, but could not gain
your consent. I incurred at that time your censure on more
than one occasion, and for forty days waited in my house fully
expectant of doom. But even so your Majesty repeatedly sought
my advice, and though it was not always followed, I was able to
avert the crowning misfortune which would have resulted from
the killing of the foreign Ministers. For this service your
Majesty has since deigned frequently to express gratitude.
“When your Majesties left the city on your tour of inspection
to Hsi-an, you decided upon punishing those evil-minded Princes
and Ministers, and thereafter to introduce a policy of gradual
and effective reform in every branch of the administration.
Already, during the past two years, considerable progress has
been made. By your return to the capital the sun has been
restored to our firmament, and even the barbarians of the
east and west have acclaimed your Majesty’s benevolence and
impartial solicitude for all, Chinese and foreigners alike.
“For the past year I have been continually ill, but until
two months ago was able to continue in the performance of my
arduous duties. Since then I have been compelled to apply for
sick-leave and have sought permission to resign my offices,
but your Majesty sent eunuchs to me with gracious messages and
presents of ginseng[124] and commanded that I should make all
haste to recover and resume my duties.
“But even the beneficent protection of your Majesty has failed
to avert from me the last ravages of illness. Repeated attacks
of asthma, with increasing difficulty in breathing, have now
brought me to the last stage of weakness and the very point
of death. With my last breath I now entreat your Majesty
vigorously to continue in the introduction of reforms, so that
gradually our Middle Kingdom may attain to a condition as
prosperous as that of the great States of Europe and Japan.
During my tenure of the office of Grand Councillor I have seen
many men appointed to offices for which they were by no means
fitted; herein lies a source of weakness, but above all it is
necessary that a radical change should be made in the selection
of District Magistrates and in the methods by which taxation
is levied and collected. It were well if the good example of
economy which your Majesty is setting were more generally
followed. In the seclusion of the Palace it is impossible
for your Majesty to know the truth as to the condition of
your subjects, and were it not for the prohibitive cost of
transporting your enormous retinues, I should advise that the
Throne should make regular tours of inspection in various
parts of the Empire. His Majesty Ch’ien-Lung made several
such tours, and among the wise sovereigns of ancient times
the custom was regularly observed. At this moment my mind is
becoming confused; I can say no more. Humbly do I pray that
your Majesty’s fame may continue to grow, and that all my good
wishes on your Majesty’s behalf may be fulfilled. Then, even
though I die, yet shall I live.
“I have dictated this, my valedictory Memorial, to my
adopted son, Liang Ku’ei, for transmission to your Majesty,
in temporary residence at Pao-ting fu. Though conscious of
its numerous shortcomings, for which I beg forgiveness, I
reverently entreat your Majesty to peruse it. Prostrate before
the Throne, with my dying breath, I, Jung Lu, now conclude my
Memorial.
“(_Dated the 10th April, 1903._)”
XXVI
HER MAJESTY’S LAST DAYS.
In the summer of 1908 Tzŭ Hsi’s generally robust health showed signs of
failing, a fact which is recorded in her valedictory Decree, and one of
no small importance in considering the coincident fact of the illness
of the Emperor. Of the causes and manner of the latter’s death, nothing
will ever be definitely known; they lie buried with many another secret
of the Forbidden City, in the hearts of Li Lien-ying and his immediate
satellites. Even among the higher officials, Manchu and Chinese, of the
capital, opinions differ, and many conflicting theories are current
to account for the remarkable coincidence of the death of Tzŭ Hsi and
her unhappy nephew on successive days. For those who seek it there is
no lack of circumstantial evidence to justify the conclusion that the
long-threatened Emperor was “removed” by the reactionaries, headed by
the chief eunuch, who had only too good cause to fear his unfettered
authority on the Throne. At the same time it is conceivably possible
that many of the plots and proceedings of the Summer Palace at that time
might have been unknown to Tzŭ Hsi, and that she was purposely kept in
ignorance by those who foresaw the possibility of her early death and
took their precautions accordingly, after the Oriental manner. Indeed,
in the light of much trustworthy evidence of eye-witnesses, this seems
a rational explanation of events to which any solution by theories of
coincidence is evidently difficult. Most of the following account of Her
Majesty’s last days is derived from the statements of two high officials,
one Manchu and the other Chinese, who were at that time on duty with the
Court. Their testimony and their conclusions coincide, on the whole, with
those of the best-informed and most reliable Chinese newspapers, whose
news from the capital is also generally from official sources. We accept
them, naturally, with all reserve, yet with an inclination to give the
Empress Dowager, on this occasion, the benefit of their good opinions and
our own doubts. The simultaneous deaths may possibly have been due to
natural causes, but it is to be observed by the most sympathetic critic,
that the account given by Her Majesty’s loyal servants of her behaviour
immediately after the Emperor’s death, is by no means suggestive of
sorrow, but rather of relief.
It was in the previous autumn that the Emperor became very ill, so much
so that he was gradually compelled during the last year of his life to
desist from performance of the usual sacrifices, which entail no small
expenditure of physical energy through their genuflections and continual
prostrations. The impression gradually gained ground that His Majesty
was not likely to live much longer, and it was remarked, and remembered
as a significant fact, that the Old Buddha had some time before given
orders for the engagement of special wet-nurses for the infant son of
Prince Ch’un, born in February, 1906. It was understood that these orders
implied the selection of this infant Prince to succeed Kuang-Hsü, but
although many attempts were made to induce her to declare herself on this
subject, she declined to do so on the ground that her previous experience
had been unlucky, that her selections had been the cause of much
misunderstanding, and that, moreover, it was a house-law of the Dynasty
that the heir to the throne could only be lawfully selected when the
sovereign was _in extremis_, a rule which she had completely disregarded
in the nomination of Prince Tuan’s son in 1900.[125]
In this connection, there is every reason to believe that Tzŭ Hsi’s
superstitious nature, and the memory of the prophecies of woe uttered
by the Censor Wu K’o-tu at the time of his protesting suicide, had
undoubtedly led her to regret the violation of the sacred laws of
succession which she committed in selecting Kuang-Hsü for the Throne. On
more than one occasion in recent years she had endeavoured to propitiate
the shade of the departed Censor, and public opinion, by conferring
upon him posthumous honours. Towards the end of her reign, after the
humiliations inflicted on China in successive wars by France, Japan and
the coalition of the Allies, she was frequently heard to express remorse
at having been led into courses of error which had brought down upon
her the wrath of Heaven. In 1888, when the Temple of Heaven was struck
by lightning, and again, when the chief gate of the Forbidden City took
fire and was destroyed, she interpreted these events as marks of the
Supreme Being’s disapproval of her actions. The Emperor’s subsequent
conspiracy with K’ang Yu-wei and his associates of 1898, became in
her eyes another judgment and visitation of Heaven. It may therefore
reasonably be assumed that when the Boxer Princes persuaded her of the
efficacy of their magic arts and of their ability to drive the foreigner
into the sea, she seized upon the hope thus offered as a means of
regaining the favour of the gods and atoning for past errors. Although
in selecting the son of Prince Tuan to be heir to her son, the Emperor
T’ung-Chih (thus passing over Kuang-Hsü), she had once more violated the
house-laws of the Dynasty, there is no doubt that she took her risks in
the certain hope that further prestige must accrue to her house and to
herself, by the fact that the boy Emperor’s father, next to herself
in power, would be hailed by the Chinese people as the Heaven-sent
deliverer, the conqueror of the hated barbarian, and the saviour of his
country. In other words, recognising that the mistakes she had committed
had seriously injured her in the eyes of the nation, she determined to
endeavour to retrieve them by one last desperate throw. Later, after
the return from exile, when she realised that this heroic venture had
been as misguided in its inception as any of her former misdeeds, she
showed her splendid courage and resource by a swift _volte-face_ in the
adoption of those very reform measures which she had formerly opposed,
and by annulling the appointment of Prince Tuan’s son as Heir to the
Throne. She thus cut herself adrift from all connection with the Boxer
leaders as completely and unhesitatingly as she wiped out from the
annals of her reign all reference to the Edicts which she had issued in
their favour. The present-day result brought about by this change of
policy, and of the succession of Prince Chun’s infant son to the Throne,
has been to establish more firmly than ever that junior branch of the
Imperial family. It is now believed, if not accepted, at Court, that
the first Prince Ch’un, the father of Kuang-Hsü and grandfather of the
present sovereign, will eventually be canonised with the title of “Ti”
or Emperor, which would practically make him, by posthumous right, the
founder of a new Dynastic branch. The problem of the direct succession,
even in Chinese eyes, is not simple, and it was generally supposed
(_e.g._ by the _Times_ correspondent at Peking in October 1908) that the
Empress Dowager would nominate Prince P’u Lun to succeed Kuang-Hsü, thus
restoring the succession to the senior branch of the family. This would
certainly have appealed to orthodox and literary officials throughout
the Empire, and, as a means of appeasing the distressed ghost of the
protesting Censor, would have been more effective than the course she
actually adopted. Doctor Morrison, discussing this question of the
succession before the event, expressed the general opinion that the
appointment of another infant to succeed the Emperor Kuang-Hsü (involving
another long Regency) would be fraught with great danger to the Dynasty.
There is no doubt that the present situation, lacking that strong hand
which for half a century has held together the chaotic fabric of China’s
Government, suffers from the fact that for many years to come the supreme
authority must remain in the hands of a Regent, and a Regent whose
position is _ab initio_ undermined by the powerful influences brought
to bear by the senior branch of the Imperial Clan. Tzŭ Hsi was fully
aware of the position which would be created, or rather prolonged, by
the selection of Prince Chun’s son, and for this reason, no doubt, the
selection of Kuang-Hsü’s successor was postponed until the very day of
her death. When, at last, confronted by the imperative necessity for
action, she had to make up her mind, there were two things that chiefly
weighed with her. These were, firstly, the promise that she had made to
Jung Lu, and, secondly, her unconcealed dislike for Prince Ch’ing, who
had made himself the chief spokesman for the claims of Prince P’u Lun.
It was also only natural that she should wish to leave to her favourite
niece (the Consort of Kuang-Hsü) the title and power of Empress Dowager,
if only in reward for years of faithful and loyal service to herself. In
other words, the claims of the human equation and her own inclinations
outweighed, unto the end, the claims of orthodox tradition and the qualms
of her conscience.
Throughout the winter of 1907 and the following spring, the Empress
enjoyed her usual vigorous health. In April she went, as usual, to the
Summer Palace, where she remained all through the hot season. With the
heat, however, came a recurrence of her dysenteric trouble and in August
she had a slight stroke of paralysis, as the result of which her face,
hitherto remarkably youthful for a woman of seventy, took on a drawn
and tired appearance. In other respects her health seemed fairly good;
certainly her vigour of speech remained unimpaired, and she continued to
devote unremitting attention to affairs of State. She was wont frequently
to declare her ambition of attaining to the same age as Queen Victoria, a
ruler for whom she professed the greatest admiration; she would say that
she could trace, in the features of the English Queen, lines of longevity
similar to those in her own. The Taoist Abbot, Kao, whom she used to
receive in frequent audiences, and who possessed considerable influence
over her, had prophesied that she would live longer than any former
Empress of the Dynasty; but his prophecy was not fulfilled, for she died
younger than three of her predecessors.
In the summer of 1908 the Old Buddha took a keen interest in the
impending visit of the Dalai Lama, which had been arranged for the
autumn. The chief eunuch, Li, begged her to cancel this visitation on
the ground that it was notoriously unlucky for the “Living Buddha” and
the Son of Heaven to be resident in one city at the same time. Either
the priest or the sovereign would surely die, he said.[126] To this
Tzŭ Hsi replied that she had long since decided in her mind that the
Emperor’s illness was incurable, and she saw no reason, therefore, to
stop the coming of the Dalai Lama. Nevertheless, in July, she summoned
certain Chinese physicians, educated abroad, to attend His Majesty,
who had become greatly emaciated and very weak. They reported that he
was suffering from Bright’s disease. Their examination of the august
patient and their diagnosis of his symptoms were necessarily perfunctory,
inasmuch as etiquette prevented the application of the proper tests, but
they professed to have verified the fact that the action of the heart was
very weak. On the other hand, writers in the newspapers of the south did
not hesitate to assert that the whole medical performance was a farce
and that the death of the Emperor would undoubtedly take place so soon
as the powers about the Throne had made up their minds that the Empress
Dowager was not likely to live much longer.
According to the general consensus of opinion in the capital, the
relations between the Old Buddha and His Majesty were not unfriendly at
this period. It was said that shortly before his illness became acute
the Empress Dowager had encouraged him to take a more active part in
affairs of State, and to select candidates for certain high offices: she
certainly renewed the practice of showing him Decrees for the formality
of his concurrence. When the reformer Wang Chao returned from flight,
and gave himself up to the police, she, who had vowed the death of this
man in 1898, invited His Majesty to decide what punishment should now
be inflicted upon him. The Emperor, after long reflection, suggested
that his life be spared. “By all means,” replied the Old Buddha, “I had
fully intended to forgive him, but desired to hear your opinion. Full
well I know your sincere hatred of fellows like K’ang Yu-wei and his
associates, and I was afraid, therefore, that you might insist on the
immediate decapitation of Wang Chao.” She evidently believed that she
had completely eradicated from His Majesty’s mind all opposition to her
wishes.
As the Emperor’s health grew worse, the eunuchs were instructed not to
keep him waiting when calling upon the Empress Dowager and he was also
excused at the meetings of the Grand Council from awaiting her arrival
and departure on his knees. A Manchu holding a high position at Court
testifies to the truth of the following incident. One morning, after
perusal of a Censor’s Memorial, which contained several inaccurate
statements, His Majesty observed to the Grand Council, “How little of
truth there is in common rumour. For instance, I know myself to be really
ill, yet here it is denied that there is anything the matter with
me.” The Empress Dowager here broke in:—“Who has dared to utter such
falsehoods? If caught, he will certainly be beheaded.” Kuang-Hsü then
proceeded to say:—“I am really getting weaker every day, and do not see
my way to performing the necessary ceremonies on the occasion of Your
Majesty’s approaching birthday.” Compassionately the Old Buddha replied:
“It is more important to me that you should recover your health than that
you should knock your head on the ground in my honour.” The Emperor fell
on his knees to thank her for these gracious words, but collapsed in a
fainting fit. Prince Ch’ing thereupon advised that a certain doctor, Chü
Yung-chiu, trained in Europe, should be called in, but his advice was
not followed till later. On the following day His Majesty enquired of
the Court physicians in attendance, whose medical training is the same
as that which has been handed down since the days of the T’ang Dynasty,
whether his disease was likely to be fatal. “The heart of your Emperor is
greatly disturbed,” said he. Dr. Lu Yung-pin replied:—“There is nothing
in Your Majesty’s present condition to indicate any mortal disease. We
beseech Your Majesty to be calm: it is for us, your servants, to be
perturbed in spirit.”
After Tzŭ Hsi’s stroke of paralysis, the wildest rumours were circulated
as to her condition, so much so that, realising the excited state of
provincial opinion, and its relation to the question of the Constitution
which was to have been granted, Her Majesty decided to carry out without
further delay the promise she made in 1906. On the 1st of the 8th
Moon, she therefore promulgated a Decree, showing signs of the same
spirit of lofty statesmanship as was displayed by the rulers of Japan,
and evidently based on their example, whereby it was promised that
a constitutional form of government would be completely established
within a period of nine years. At the same time it was decreed that
every branch of the government should institute the changes necessary
to facilitate the introduction of the new dispensation. On issuing this
Decree she expressed her hope of living to witness the convening of the
first Chinese Parliament, and added that if Prince Tuan’s son had proved
himself worthy, and had remained Heir Apparent, he would by now have
been of age to carry on the government after the Emperor’s death. Age
was creeping upon her, and she would be glad to retire to the Summer
Palace for her declining years. As long as matters remained in their
present state, it would be necessary to refer important questions for her
decision, but she greatly wished that the period of her Regency should
not be indefinitely prolonged.
In September occurred the fiftieth birthday of the ex-Viceroy of Chihli
Yüan Shih-k’ai, while the Court was still in residence at the Summer
Palace. The Old Buddha showered costly gifts upon her trusted Minister,
and almost every high official in Peking attended the birthday ceremonies
to present congratulations and gifts. Conspicuous by his absence,
however, was the Emperor’s brother, Prince Ch’un (the present Regent),
who had applied for short leave in order to avoid being present, and who
offered no presents.
A significant incident occurred in connection with the birthday
ceremonies. Among the many complimentary scrolls, presented by friends
and hanging on the walls, were a pair which attracted much attention,
until they were hurriedly removed. One contained the following
inscription:—“5th day of the 8th Moon of the Wu Shen year” (this was the
date of the crisis of the _coup d’état_ when Yüan Shih-k’ai warned Jung
Lu of the plot, and thus brought about the practical dethronement of the
Emperor), and on the other were the words:—“May the Emperor live ten
thousand years! May Your Excellency live ten thousand years.”
The words “_wan sui_,” meaning “ten thousand years,” are not applicable
to any subject of the Throne, and the inner meaning of these words was,
therefore, interpreted to be a charge against Yüan of conspiring for the
Throne. It was clear that some enemy had sent the scrolls as a reminder
of Yüan’s betrayal of his Sovereign ten years before, and that they had
been hung up either as the result of connivance or carelessness on the
part of Yüan’s people. Four months later, when the great ex-Viceroy fell,
this incident was remembered and inevitably connected with Prince Ch’un’s
non-appearance at the birthday ceremonies.
In September, the Dalai Lama reached Peking, but owing to a dispute on
certain details of ceremonial, his audience was postponed. It was finally
arranged that the Pontiff should kowtow to the Throne, and that the
Emperor should then rise from his seat and invite the Lama to sit beside
him on a cane couch. This ceremonial was most reluctantly accepted,
and only after much discussion, by the Dalai Lama, who considered his
dignity seriously injured by having to kowtow. He had brought with him
much tribute, and was therefore the more disappointed at the Old Buddha’s
failure to show him the marks of respect which he had expected. His
audience was held early in October, when Her Majesty requested him to
offer up prayers regularly for her long life and prosperity.
In October, the foreign Ministers were also received at the Summer
Palace, and on the 20th of that month the Court returned to the Lake
Palace for the winter. On this, her last State progress, the Empress
Dowager approached the city as usual in her State barge, by the canal
which joins the Summer Palace Lake with the waters of the Winter Palace,
proceeding in it as far as the Temple of Imperial Longevity, which is
situated on the banks of this canal. It was observed that as she left
the precincts of the Summer Palace she gazed longingly towards the lofty
walls that rise from the banks of the lake, and from thence to the hills
receding into the far distance. Turning to the “Lustrous” concubine who
sat at her feet, she expressed her fears that the critical condition of
the Emperor would prevent her from visiting her favourite residence for
a long time to come.
[Illustration: VIEW, FROM THE K’UN MING LAKE, OF THE SUMMER PALACE.]
The Old Buddha sat in a cane chair on the raised deck of her magnificent
barge adorned with carved dragons and phœnixes; she was surrounded by her
favourite eunuchs, and half a dozen of the chief ladies of the Court. As
she descended from the barge, supported by two eunuchs, and entered the
sedan chair which bore her to within the temple precincts, her vivacity
and good spirits formed a subject of general comment. She performed the
usual sacrifices at the Temple of Imperial Longevity, a shrine which
she had liberally endowed; but it was remembered after her death, as an
unfortunate omen, that the last stick of incense failed to ignite. Upon
leaving the temple she begged the priests to chant daily liturgies and to
pray for her longevity, in view of her approaching birthday.
After leaving the temple precincts she proceeded with her
ladies-in-waiting to the Botanical and Zoological Gardens, which lie just
outside the “West-Straight gate” of the city. On arrival at the gates,
she insisted upon descending from her sedan chair, and made the entire
round of the gardens on foot. She expressed interest and much pleasure at
the sight of animals which she had never seen before, and announced her
intention of frequently visiting the place. She asked numerous questions
of the keepers, being especially interested in the lions, and created
much amusement amongst her immediate entourage by asking the director of
the gardens (a Manchu official of the Household) for information as to
where the animals came from, a subject on which he was naturally quite
uninformed. “You don’t seem to know much about zoology,” she observed,
and turned from the crestfallen official to address one of the keepers
in a most informal manner. The chief eunuch, Li Lien-ying, wearied by
such unwonted exercise, implored Her Majesty not to tire herself, but
the Old Buddha took pleasure, clearly malicious, in hurrying him round
the grounds. The occasion was unusual and remarkably informal, and the
picture brings irresistibly to the English mind memories of another
strong-minded Queen and her inspection of another garden, where heads
were insecure for gardeners and Cheshire cats. Eye-witnesses of that
day’s outing commented freely on their Imperial Mistress’s extraordinary
spirits and vitality, predicting for her many years of life.
Her Majesty, whose memory on unexpected subjects was always remarkable,
referred on this occasion to the elephant which had been presented to
her by Tuan Fang upon his return from Europe, and which, together with
several other animals for which she had no fitting accommodation in the
Palace grounds, was the first cause and first inmate of the Zoological
Gardens. The elephant in question had originally been in charge of the
two German keepers who had accompanied it from Hagenbeck’s establishment;
these men had frequently but unsuccessfully protested at the insufficient
rations provided for the beast by the Mandarin in charge. Eventually
the elephant had died of slow starvation, and the keepers had returned
to Europe, after obtaining payment of their unexpired contracts, a
result which brought down upon the offending official Her Majesty’s
severe displeasure. She referred now to this incident, and expressed
satisfaction that most of the animals appeared to be well cared for,
though the tigers’ attendant received a sharp rebuke.
After Her Majesty’s return to the Winter Palace, everything was given
over to preparations for the celebration of her seventy-third birthday
on the 3rd of November. The main streets of the city were decorated, and
in the Palace itself arrangements were made for a special theatrical
performance to last for five days. A special ceremony, quite distinct
from the ordinary birthday congratulations of the Court, was arranged for
the Dalai Lama, who was to make obeisance before Her Majesty at the head
of his following of priests. The health of His Majesty did not permit
of his carrying out the prescribed ceremony of prostration before Her
Majesty’s Throne in the main Palace of Ceremonial Phœnixes; he therefore
deputed a Prince of the Blood to represent him in the performance of
this duty, and those who knew its deep significance on such an occasion
realised that the condition of his health must indeed be desperate. This
impression was confirmed by the fact that he was similarly compelled to
abandon his intention of being present at a special banquet to be given
to the Dalai Lama in the Palace of Tributary Envoys. The high priest, who
had been compelled to kneel outside the banquet hall to await the arrival
of His Majesty, was greatly incensed at this occurrence.
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS DOWAGER, WITH THE CHIEF EUNUCH, LI LIEN-YING.]
At eight in the morning of the birthday His Majesty left his Palace in
the “Ocean Terrace” and proceeded to the Throne Hall. His emaciated
and woe-begone appearance was such, however, that the Old Buddha took
compassion upon him, and bade his attendant eunuchs support him to his
palanquin, excusing him from further attendance. Later in the day she
issued a special Decree praising the loyalty of the Dalai Lama, and
ordering him to return promptly to Thibet, “there to extol the generosity
of the Throne of China, and faithfully to obey the commands of the
Sovereign power.” The Empress Dowager spent the afternoon of her birthday
in the congenial amusement of a masquerade, appearing in the costume
of the Goddess of Mercy, attended by a numerous suite of concubines,
Imperial Princesses, and eunuchs, all in fancy dress. They picnicked on
the lake, and Her Majesty appeared to be in the very highest spirits.
Unfortunately, towards evening, she caught a chill, and thereafter,
partaking too freely of a mixture of clotted cream and crab apples, she
had a return of the dysenteric complaint from which she had suffered all
through the summer. On the following day she attended to affairs of State
as usual, reading a vast number of Memorials and recording her decision
thereon, but on the 5th of November neither she nor the Emperor were
sufficiently well to receive the Grand Council, so that all business of
government was suspended for two days. Upon hearing of Her Majesty’s
illness, the Dalai Lama hastened to present her with an image of Buddha,
which, he said, should be despatched forthwith to her mausoleum at
the hills, the building of which had just been completed under the
supervision of Prince Ch’ing.[127] The high priest urged all haste in
transmitting this miracle-working image to her future burial-place; if it
were done quickly, he said, her life would be prolonged by many years,
because the unlucky conjunction of the stars now affecting her adversely
would avail nothing against the magic power of this image. The Old Buddha
was greatly reassured by the Dalai Lama’s cheerful prognostications,
and next morning held audience as usual. She commanded Prince Ch’ing to
proceed without delay to the tombs, and there to deposit the miraculous
image on the altar.[128] She ordered him to pay particular attention to
the work done at the mausoleum, and to make certain that her detailed
instructions had been faithfully carried out. Prince Ch’ing demurred
somewhat at these instructions, inquiring whether she really wished him
to leave Peking at a time when she herself and the Emperor were both ill.
But the Old Buddha would brook no argument, and peremptorily ordered him
to proceed as instructed. “I am not likely to die,” she said, “during the
next few days; already I am feeling much better. In any case you will do
as you are told.” On Monday, November 9th, both the Empress Dowager and
the Emperor were present at a meeting of the Grand Council, and a special
audience was given to the Educational Commissioner of Chihli province,
about to leave for his post. At this audience the Old Buddha spoke with
some bitterness of the increasing tendency of the student class to
give vent to revolutionary ideas, and she commanded the Commissioner of
Education to do all in his power to check their political activities.
Shortly afterwards four more physicians, who had come up from the
provinces, were admitted to see His Majesty. That same afternoon he had
a serious relapse, and from that day forward never left his palace. On
the following morning he sent a dutiful message (or it was sent for him)
enquiring after the Empress Dowager’s health, she being also confined
to her room and holding no audiences. The Court physicians reported
badly of both their Imperial patients: being fearful as to the outcome,
they begged the Comptroller-General of the Household to engage other
physicians in their place. The Grand Council sent a message to Prince
Ch’ing, directing him to return to Peking with all haste, his presence
being required forthwith on matters of the highest importance. Travelling
night and day, he reached the capital at about eight o’clock in the
morning of the 13th, and hastened to the palace. He found the Old Buddha
cheerful and confident of ultimate recovery, but the Emperor was visibly
sinking, his condition being comatose, with short lucid intervals. His
last conscious act had been to direct his Consort to inform the Empress
Dowager that he regretted being unable to attend her, and that he hoped
that she would appoint an Heir Apparent without further delay. Whether
these dutiful messages were spontaneous or inspired, and indeed, whether
they were ever sent by the Emperor, is a matter upon which doubt has been
freely expressed.
Immediately after the arrival of Prince Ch’ing, an important audience
was held in the Hall of Ceremonial Phœnixes. Her Majesty was able to
mount the Throne, and, although obviously weak, her unconquerable courage
enabled her to master her physical ailments, and she spoke with all her
wonted vehemence and lucidity. A well-informed member of the Grand
Council, full of wonder at such an exhibition of strength of will, has
recorded the fact that she completely led and dominated the Council.
There were present Prince Ch’ing, Prince Ch’un, the Grand Councillor Yüan
Shih-k’ai, and the Grand Secretaries Chang Chih-tung, Lu Ch’uan-lin and
Shih Hsü.
Her Majesty announced that the time had come to nominate an Heir to the
Emperor T’ung-Chih, in accordance with that Decree of the first day
of the reign of Kuang-Hsü, wherein it was provided that the deceased
Sovereign’s ancestral rites should be safeguarded by allowing him
precedence over his successor of the same generation. Her choice, she
said, was already made, but she desired to take the opinion of the Grand
Councillors in the first instance. Prince Ch’ing and Yüan Shih-k’ai then
recommended the appointment of Prince P’u Lun, or, failing him, Prince
Kung. They thought the former, as senior great-grandson of Tao-Kuang,
was the more eligible candidate, and with this view Prince Ch’un seemed
disposed to agree. The remaining Grand Councillors, however, advised the
selection of Prince Ch’un’s infant son.
After hearing the views of her Councillors, the Old Buddha announced
that long ago, at the time when she had betrothed the daughter of Jung
Lu to Prince Ch’un, she had decided that the eldest son of this marriage
should become Heir to the Throne, in recognition and reward of Jung
Lu’s lifelong devotion to her person, and his paramount services to the
Dynasty at the time of the Boxer rising. She placed on record her opinion
that he had saved the Manchus by refusing to assist in the attack upon
the Legations. In the 3rd Moon of this year she had renewed her pledge
to Jung Lu’s widow, her oldest friend, just before she died. She would,
therefore, now bestow upon Prince Ch’un as Regent, the title of “Prince
co-operating in the Government,” a title one degree higher than that
which had been given to Prince Kung in 1861, who was made “Adviser to
the Government” by herself and her co-Regent.
[Illustration: THE SON OF HEAVEN. H.M. HSÜAN-T’UNG, EMPEROR OF CHINA.]
Upon hearing this decision, Prince Ch’un arose from his seat and
repeatedly kowtowed before Her Majesty, expressing a deep sense of his
own unworthiness. Once more Yüan Shih-k’ai courageously advanced the
superior claims of Prince P’u Lun: he was sincerely of opinion that the
time had come for the succession to be continued along the original lines
of primogeniture; it was clear also that he fully realised that Prince
Ch’un was his bitter enemy. The Old Buddha turned upon him with an angry
reprimand. “You think.” she said, “that I am old, and in my dotage,
but you should have learned by now that when I make up my mind nothing
stops me from acting upon it. At a critical time in a nation’s affairs a
youthful Sovereign is no doubt a source of danger to the State, but do
not forget that I shall be here to direct and assist Prince Ch’un.” Then,
turning to the other Councillors, she continued:—“Draft two Decrees at
once, in my name, the first, appointing Tsai-feng, Prince Ch’un, to be
‘Prince co-operating in the Government’ and the second commanding that
P’u Yi, son of Prince Ch’un, should enter the palace forthwith, to be
brought up within the precincts.” She ordered Prince Ch’ing to inform the
Emperor of these Decrees.
Kuang-Hsü was still conscious, and understood what Prince Ch’ing said
to him. “Would it not have been better,” he said, “to nominate an
adult? No doubt, however, the Empress Dowager knows best.” Upon hearing
of the appointment of Prince Ch’un to the Regency, he expressed his
gratification. This was at 3 P.M.; two hours later the infant Prince
had been brought into the Palace, and was taken by his father to be
shown both to the Empress Dowager and the Emperor. At seven o’clock
on the following morning the physicians in attendance reported that
His Majesty’s “nose was twitching and his stomach rising,” from which
signs they knew that his end was at hand. During the night, feeling that
death was near, he had written out his last testament, in a hand almost
illegible, prefacing the same with these significant words:—
“We were the second son of Prince Ch’un when the Empress
Dowager selected Us for the Throne. She has always hated Us,
but for Our misery of the past ten years Yüan Shih-k’ai is
responsible, and one other” (the second name is said to have
been illegible). “When the time comes I desire that Yüan be
summarily beheaded.”
The Emperor’s consort took possession of this document, which, however,
was seen by independent witnesses. Its wording goes to show that any
conciliatory attitude on the part of the Emperor during the last year
must have been inspired by fear and not by any revival of affection.
Later in the day a Decree was promulgated, announcing to the inhabitants
of Peking and the Empire that their sovereign’s condition was desperate,
and calling on the provinces to send their most skilful physicians
post-haste to the capital so that, perchance, His Majesty’s life
might yet be saved. The Decree described in detail the symptoms, real
or alleged, of Kuang-Hsü’s malady. It was generally regarded as a
perfunctory announcement of an unimportant event, long expected.
At 3 P.M. the Empress Dowager came to the “Ocean Terrace” to visit the
Emperor, but he was unconscious, and did not know her. Later, when a
short return of consciousness occurred, his attendants endeavoured to
persuade him to put on the Ceremonial Robes of Longevity, in which
etiquette prescribes that sovereigns should die. It is the universal
custom that, if possible, the patient should don these robes in his
last moments, for it is considered unlucky if they are put on after
death. His Majesty, however, obstinately declined, and at five o’clock
he died, in the presence of the Empress Dowager, his consort, the two
secondary consorts, and a few eunuchs. The Empress Dowager did not remain
to witness the ceremony of clothing the body in the Dragon Robes, but
returned forthwith to her own palace, where she gave orders for the issue
of his valedictory Decree and for the proclamation of the new Emperor.
The most interesting passage of the Emperor’s valedictory Decree was
the following:—“Reflecting on the critical condition of our Empire, we
have been led to combine the Chinese system with certain innovations
from foreign countries. We have endeavoured to establish harmony between
the common people and converts to Christianity. We have reorganised the
army and founded colleges. We have fostered trade and industries and
have made provision for a new judicial system, paving also the way for
a Constitutional form of government, so that all our subjects may enjoy
the continued blessings of peace.” After referring to the appointment
of the Regent and the nomination of a successor to the Dragon Throne,
he concludes (or rather the Empress concluded for him) with a further
reference to the Constitution, and an appeal to his Ministers to purify
their hearts and prepare themselves, so that, after nine years, the
new order may be accomplished, and the Imperial purposes successfully
achieved.
The Old Buddha appeared at this juncture to be in particularly good
spirits, astonishing all about her by her vivacity and keenness. She
gave orders that a further Decree be published, in the name of the new
Emperor, containing the usual laudation of the deceased monarch and an
expression of the infant Emperor’s gratitude to the Empress Dowager for
her benevolence in placing him on the Throne.
It will be remembered that the Censor Wu K’o-tu committed suicide at the
beginning of Kuang-Hsü’s reign, as an act of protest at the irregularity
in the succession, which left no heir to the Emperor T’ung-Chih, that
monarch’s spirit being left desolate and without a successor to perform
on his behalf the ancestral sacrifices. The child, P’u Yi, having now
been made heir by adoption to T’ung-Chih, in fulfilment of the promise
made by Tzŭ Hsi at the time of this sensational suicide, it appeared as
if the irregularity were about to be repeated, and the soul of Kuang-Hsü
to be left in a similar orbate condition in the Halls of Hades, unless
some means could be found to solve the difficulty and meet the claims of
both the deceased Emperors. In the event of Kuang-Hsü being left without
heir or descendant to perform the all-important worship at his shrine,
there could be but little doubt that the feelings of the orthodox would
again be outraged, and the example of Wu K’o-tu might have been followed
by other Censors. The Empress Dowager, realising the importance of the
question, solved it in her own masterful way by a stroke of policy which,
although without precisely applicable precedent in history, nevertheless
appeared to satisfy all parties, and to placate all prejudices, if only
by reason of its simplicity and originality. Her Decree on the subject
was as follows:—
“The Emperor T’ung-Chih, having left no heir, was compelled to
issue a Decree to the effect that so soon as a child should be
born to His Majesty Kuang-Hsü, that child would be adopted as
Heir to the Emperor T’ung-Chih. But now His Majesty Kuang-Hsü
has ascended on high, dragon-borne, and he also has left no
heir. I am, therefore, now obliged to decree that P’u Yi, son
of Tsai Feng, the ‘Prince co-operating in the Government,’
should become heir by adoption to the Emperor T’ung-Chih, and
that, at the same time, he should perform joint sacrifices at
the shrine of His Majesty Kuang-Hsü.”
To those who are acquainted with the tangled web of Chinese Court
ceremonial and the laws of succession, it would seem that so simple (and
so new) an expedient might suitably have been adopted on previous similar
occasions, since all that was required was to make the individual living
Emperor assume a dual personality towards the dead, and one cannot help
wondering whether the classical priestcraft which controls these things
would have accepted the solution so readily at the hands of anyone less
masterful and determined than Tzŭ Hsi.
In a subsequent Decree the Empress Dowager handed over to the Regent full
control in all routine business, reserving only to herself the last word
in all important matters of State. The effect of this arrangement was
to place Prince Ch’un in much the same position of nominal sovereignty
as that held by Kuang-Hsü himself, until such time as the young Emperor
should come of age, or until the death of the Empress Dowager. In other
words, Tzŭ Hsi had once more put in operation the machinery by which she
had acquired and held the supreme power since the death of her husband,
the Emperor Hsien-Feng. There is little doubt that at this moment she
fully expected to live for many years more, and that she made her plans
so as to enjoy to the end uninterrupted and undiminished authority.
In her Decree on this subject, wherein, as usual, she justifies her
proceedings by reference to the critical condition of affairs, she states
that the Regent is to carry on the Government “subject always to the
instructions of the Empress Dowager,” and there can be no doubt that
had she lived the Emperor’s brother would no more have been permitted
any independent initiative or authority than the unfortunate Kuang-Hsü
himself.
XXVII
TZŬ HSI’S DEATH AND BURIAL
At the close of a long and exciting day, Her Majesty retired to rest
on the 14th of November, weary with her labours but apparently much
improved in health. Next morning she arose at her usual hour, 6 A.M.,
gave audience to the Grand Council and talked for some time with the late
Emperor’s widow, with the Regent and with his wife, the daughter of Jung
Lu. By a Decree issued in the name of the infant Emperor, she assumed the
title of Empress Grand Dowager, making Kuang-Hsü’s widow Empress Dowager.
Elaborate ceremonies were planned to celebrate the bestowal of these
new titles, and to proclaim the installation of the Regent. Suddenly,
at noon, while sitting at her meal, the Old Buddha was seized with a
fainting fit, long and severe. When at last she recovered consciousness,
it was clear to all that the stress and excitement of the past few days
had brought on a relapse, her strength having been undermined by the
long attack of dysentery. Realising that her end was near, she hurriedly
summoned the new Empress Dowager, the Regent and the Grand Council to the
Palace, where, upon their coming together, she dictated the following
Decree, speaking in the same calm tones which she habitually used in
transacting the daily routine of Government work:—
“By command of the Empress Grand Dowager: Yesterday I issued an
Edict whereby Prince Ch’un was made Regent, and I commanded
that the whole business of Government should be in his hands,
subject only to my instructions. Being seized of a mortal
sickness, and being without hope of recovery, I now order that
henceforward the government of the Empire shall be entirely in
the hands of the Regent. Nevertheless, should there arise any
question of vital importance, in regard to which an expression
of the Empress Dowager’s opinion is desirable, the Regent shall
apply in person to her for instructions, and act accordingly.”
The significance of the conclusion of this Decree is apparent to anyone
familiar with Chinese Court procedure and with the life history of the
Empress herself. Its ingenious wording was expressly intended to afford
to the new Empress Dowager and the Yehonala Clan an opportunity for
intervention at any special crisis, thus maintaining the Clan’s final
authority and safeguarding its position in the event of any hostile
move by the Regent or his adherents. And the result of this precaution
has already been shown on the occasion of the recent dismissal of Tuan
Fang[129] from the Viceroyalty of Chihli for alleged want of respect
in connection with the funeral ceremonies of the Empress Dowager, an
episode which showed clearly that the Regent has no easy game to play,
and that the new Empress Dowager, Lung Yu, has every intention to defend
the position of the Clan and to take advantage thereof along lines very
similar to those followed by her august predecessor.
After issuing the Decree above quoted, the Empress Dowager, rapidly
sinking, commanded that her valedictory Decree be drafted and submitted
to her for approval. This was done quickly. After perusing the document,
she proceeded to correct it in several places, notably by the addition
of the sentence, “It became my inevitable and bounden duty to assume the
Regency.” Commenting on this addition, she volunteered the explanation
that she wished it inserted because on more than one occasion her
assumption of the supreme power had been wrongfully attributed to
personal ambition, whereas, as a matter of fact, the welfare of the State
had always weighed with her as much as her own inclinations, and she had
been forced into this position. From her own pen also came the touching
conclusion of the Decree, that sentence which begins: “Looking back over
the memories of these fifty years,” etc. She observed, in writing this,
that she had nothing to regret in her life, and could only wish that
it might have lasted for many years more. She then proceeded to bid an
affectionate farewell to her numerous personal attendants and the waiting
maids around her, all of whom were overcome by very real and deep grief.
To the end her mind remained quite clear, and, at the very point of
death, she continued to speak as calmly as if she were just about to set
out on one of her progresses to the Summer Palace. Again and again, when
all thought the end had come, she recovered consciousness, and up to the
end the watchers at her bedside could not help hoping (or fearing, as
the case might be with them) that she would yet get the better of Death.
At the last, _in articulo mortis_, they asked her, in accordance with
the Chinese custom, to pronounce her last words. Strangely significant
was the answer of the extraordinary woman who had moulded and guided the
destinies of the Chinese people for half a century: “Never again,” she
said, “allow any woman to hold the supreme power in the State. It is
against the house-law of our Dynasty and should be strictly forbidden. Be
careful not to permit eunuchs to meddle in Government matters. The Ming
Dynasty was brought to ruin by eunuchs, and its fate should be a warning
to my people.” Tzŭ Hsi died, as she had lived, above the law, yet jealous
of its fulfilment by others. Only a few hours before she had provided
for the transmission of authority to a woman of her own clan: now,
confronting the dark Beyond, she hesitated to perpetuate a system which,
in any but the strongest hands, could not fail to throw the Empire into
confusion. She died, as she had lived, a creature of impulse and swiftly
changing moods, a woman of infinite variety.
At 3 P.M., straightening her limbs, she expired with her face to the
south, which is the correct position, according to Chinese ideas, for a
dying sovereign. It was reported by those who saw her die that her mouth
remained fixedly open, which the Chinese interpret as a sign that the
spirit of the deceased is unwilling to leave the body and to take its
departure for the place of the Nine Springs.
Thus died Tzŭ Hsi; and when her ladies and handmaidens had dressed the
body in its Robes of State, embroidered with the Imperial Dragon, her
remains and those of the Emperor were borne from the Lake Palace to the
Forbidden City, through long lines of their kneeling subjects, and were
reverently laid in separate Halls of the Palace, with all due state and
ceremony.
The valedictory Decree of Tzŭ Hsi, the last words from that pen which had
indeed been mightier than many swords, was for the most part a faithful
reproduction of the classical models, the orthodox swan song of the
ruler of a people which makes of its writings a religion. Its text is as
follows:—
_The Valedictory Mandate of Her Majesty Tz’ŭ-Hsi-Tuan-Yu-K’ang-I-
Chao-Yü-Chuang-Cheng-Shou-Kung-Ch’in-Hsien-Ch’ung-Hsi, the
Empress Grand Dowager, declareth as follows:—_
“I, of humble virtue, did reverently receive the appointment
of the late Emperor Hsien-Feng, which prepared for me a
place amongst his Consorts. When the late Emperor T’ung-Chih
succeeded in early childhood to the Throne, there was
rebellion still raging in the land, which was being vigorously
suppressed. Not only did the Taiping and turbaned rebels
engage in successive outbreaks, but disorder was spread by the
Kuei-chou aborigines and by Mahomedan bandits. The provinces
of the coast were in great distress, the people on the verge of
ruin, widespread distress confronting us on all sides.
“Co-operating then with the senior Consort of Hsien-Feng, the
Empress Dowager of the Eastern Palace, I undertook the heavy
duties of Government, toiling ever, day and night. Obeying
the behests of His late Majesty, my husband, I urged on the
Metropolitan and provincial officials, as well as the military
commanders, directing their policies and striving for the
restoration of peace. I employed virtuous officials and was
ever ready to listen to wise counsel. I relieved my people’s
distress in time of flood and famine. By the goodwill and
bounty of Heaven, I suppressed the rebellions and out of dire
peril restored peace. Later, when the Emperor T’ung-Chih passed
away and the Emperor Kuang-Hsü, now just deceased, entered by
adoption upon the great heritage, the crisis was even more
dangerous and the condition of the people even more pitiable.
Within the Empire calamities were rife, while from abroad we
were confronted by repeated and increasing acts of aggression.
“Once again it became my inevitable and bounden duty to assume
the Regency. Two years ago I issued a Decree announcing the
Throne’s intention to grant a Constitution, and this present
year I have promulgated the date at which it is to come into
effect. Innumerable affairs of State have required direction at
my hands and I have laboured without ceasing and with all my
might. Fortunately, my constitution was naturally strong, and
I have been able to face my duties with undiminished vigour.
During the summer and autumn of this year, however, I have
frequently been in bad health, at a time when pressing affairs
of State allowed me no repose. I lost my sleep and appetite,
and gradually my strength failed me. Yet even then I took no
rest, not for a single day. And yesterday saw the death of His
Majesty Kuang-Hsü; whereat my grief overwhelmed me. I can bear
no more, and so am I come to the pass where no possible hope of
recovery remains.
“Looking back upon the memories of these last fifty years,
I perceive how calamities from within and aggression from
without have come upon us in relentless succession, and that
my life has never enjoyed a moment’s respite from anxiety.
But to-day definite progress has been made towards necessary
reforms. The new Emperor is but an infant, just reaching the
age when wise instruction is of the highest importance. The
Prince Regent and all our officials must henceforth work
loyally together to strengthen the foundations of our Empire.
His Majesty must devote himself to studying the interests of
the country and so refrain from giving way to personal grief.
That he may diligently pursue his studies, and hereafter add
fresh lustre to the glorious achievements of his ancestors, is
now my most earnest prayer.
“Mourning to be worn for only twenty-seven days.
“Cause this to be everywhere known!
“Tenth Moon, 23rd day (November the 15th).”
The title by which Her Majesty was canonised contains no less than
twenty-two characters, sixteen of which were hers at the day of her
death, the other six having been added in the Imperial Decrees which
recorded her decease and praised her glorious achievements. The first
character “Dutiful”—_i.e._ to her husband—is always accorded to a
deceased Empress. It is significant of the unpractical nature of the
_literati_, or of their cynicism, that the second of her latest titles
signifies “reverend,” implying punctilious adherence to ancestral
traditions! The third and fourth mean “Equal of Heaven,” which places her
on a footing of equality with Confucius, while the fifth and sixth raise
her even higher than the Sage in the national Pantheon, for it means
“Increase in Sanctity,” of which Confucius was only a “Manifestor.” In
the records of the Dynasty she will henceforth be known as the Empress
“Dutiful, Reverend and Glorious,” a title, according to the laws of
Chinese honorifics, higher than any woman ruler has hitherto received
since the beginning of history.
Since her death the prestige of the Empress Dowager, and her hold on
the imagination of the people, have grown rather than decreased. Around
her coffin, while it lay first in her Palace of Peaceful Longevity and
later in a hall at the foot of the Coal Hill, north of the Forbidden
City, awaiting the appointed day propitious for burial, there gathered
something more than the conventional regrets and honours which fall
usually to the lot of China’s rulers. Officials as well as people
felt that with her they had lost the strong hand of guidance, and a
personality which appealed to most of them as much from the human as from
the official point of view. Their affectionate recollections of the Old
Buddha were clearly shown by the elaborate sacrifices paid to her _manes_
at various periods from the day of her death to that day, a year later,
when her ancestral tablet was brought home to the Forbidden City from the
Imperial tombs with all pomp and circumstance.
On the All Souls’ day of the Buddhists, celebrated in the 7th Moon, and
which fell in the September following her death, a magnificent barge made
of paper and over a hundred and fifty feet long was set up outside the
Forbidden City on a large empty space adjoining the Coal Hill. It was
crowded with figures of attendant eunuchs and handmaidens, and contained
furniture and viands for the use of the illustrious dead in the lower
regions. A throne was placed in the bows, and around it were kneeling
effigies of attendant officials all wearing their Robes of State as if
the shade of Tzŭ Hsi were holding an audience.
On the morning of the All Souls’ festival the Regent, in the name of the
Emperor, performed sacrifice before the barge, which was then set alight
and burnt, in order that the Old Buddha might enjoy the use of it at the
“yellow springs.” A day or two before her funeral, hundreds of paper
effigies of attendants, cavalry, camels and other pack animals, were
similarly burnt so that her spirit might enjoy all the pomp to which she
had been accustomed in life.
The following account of her funeral is reproduced from _The Times_ of
27th November, 1909:—
“The 9th of November at 5 A.M. was the hour of good omen
originally chosen by the Astrologers for the departure of the
remains of Her late Majesty the Empress Dowager from their
temporary resting place in the Forbidden City to the mausoleum
prepared for her at the Eastern Hills. To meet the convenience
of the foreign representatives, the hour was subsequently
changed to 7 A.M.
“The arrangements for the procession and the part taken therein
by the Diplomatic Body, were generally similar to those of the
funeral of His Majesty Kuang-Hsü, but the mounted troops were
more numerous and better turned out, the police were noticeably
smarter and well-dressed, and the pageant as a whole was in
many respects more imposing. But for those who, in May last,
witnessed the late Emperor’s funeral, the scene lacked one
element of its brilliantly picturesque effect, namely, the
bright sunshine which on that occasion threw every detail and
distinctive note of the _cortège_ into clear relief against
the grey background of the Palace walls. The day was cold,
with lowering clouds, and the long delay which preceded the
appearance of the catafalque at the point where the Diplomatic
Body was stationed had an inevitably depressing effect on the
spectators.
“The catafalque was borne by eighty-four bearers, the largest
number which can carry this unwieldy burden through the City
gates; but beyond the walls the coffin was transferred to a
larger bier borne by one hundred and twenty men. In front
walked the Prince Regent, the bodyguard of Manchu Princes and
the members of the Grand Council, attended by the Secretariat
staff. Behind rode first a smart body of troops, followed
by a large number of camels whose Mongol attendants carried
tent-poles and other articles for use in the erection of the
‘matshed palaces,’ wherein the coffin rests at night at the
different stages of the four days’ journey to the tombs. Behind
the Mongols were borne in procession the gaudy honorific
umbrellas presented to the Old Buddha on the occasion of
her return from exile at Hsi-an fu in 1901: all these were
burnt on the 16th instant when the body was finally entombed.
Following the waving umbrellas came a body of Lama dignitaries,
and after them a contingent from the Imperial Equipage
Department bearing Manchu sacrificial vessels, Buddhist symbols
and embroidered banners. Conspicuous in the _cortège_ were
three splendid chariots with trappings and curtains of Imperial
yellow silk, emblazoned with dragons and phœnixes, and two
palanquins similar to those used by the Empress Dowager on her
journeys in State; these also were burned at the mausoleum.
Noticeable figures in the procession were the six chief
eunuchs, including the notorious Li Lien-ying and the short
handsome attendant who usually accompanied the Empress’s sedan
chair. The spectacle, as a whole, was most impressive; no
such pomp and circumstance, say the Chinese, has marked the
obsequies of any Empress of China since the funeral of the
Empress Wu (_circa_ A.D. 700) of whom the annals record that
hundreds of attendants were buried alive in her mausoleum.
“The police arrangements attracted general attention by their
remarkable efficiency, which many Chinese attribute to the
present Empress Dowager’s constant fear of assassination. Every
closed door along the route of the procession was closely
guarded by soldiers and special precautions taken against
bomb-throwing. The street guards were numerous and alert, and
the arrangements generally were characterised by discipline and
decorum. There was little confusion in the _cortège_, and none
of the unseemly shouting usual on such occasions.
“Ninety miles away, in a silent spot surrounded by virgin pine
forest and backed by protecting hills, are the Eastern Tombs,
towards which, for four days, the great catafalque made its
way along the yellow-sanded road. There stands the mausoleum,
originally built by the faithful Jung Lu for his Imperial
Mistress at a cost which stands in the government records at
eight millions of taels. It is close to the ‘Ting Ling,’ the
burial-place of her husband, the Emperor Hsien-Feng. To the
west of it stands the tomb of her colleague and co-Regent (the
Empress Tzŭ An), and on the east that of the first Consort
of Hsien-Feng, who died before his accession to the Throne,
and was subsequently canonised as Empress. Throughout her
lifetime, and particularly of late years, Yehonala took great
interest and pride in her last resting-place, visiting it at
intervals and exacting the most scrupulous attention from those
entrusted with its building and adornment. On one occasion, in
1897, when practically completed, she had it rebuilt because
the teak pillars were not sufficiently massive. After the
death of Jung Lu, Prince Ch’ing became responsible for the
custody of the tomb and its precious contents—the sacrificial
vessels of carved jade, the massive vases and incense burners
of gold and silver, which adorn the mortuary chamber; the
richly-jewelled couch to receive the coffin, and the carved
figures of serving maids and eunuchs who stand for ever in
attendance. After the last ceremony at the tomb, when the
Princes, Chamberlains and high officials had taken their final
farewell of the illustrious dead, while the present Empress
Dowager, with her attendants and the surviving consorts of the
Emperors Hsien-Feng and T’ung-Chih, offered the last rites in
the mortuary chamber, the massive stone door of the tomb was
let down and the resting-place of Tzŭ Hsi closed for ever.
“The cost of the late Emperor’s funeral has been officially
recorded, with the nice accuracy which characterises Chinese
finance, at 459,940 taels, 2 mace, 3 candareens and 6 li. As
the cost of a funeral in China closely reflects the dignity of
the deceased and the “face” of his or her immediate survivors,
these figures become particularly interesting when compared
with the cost of the Empress Dowager’s funeral, which is
placed at one and a-quarter to one and a-half million taels.
Rumour credited the Regent with an attempt to cut down this
expenditure, which attempt he abandoned at the last moment in
the face of the displeasure of the powerful Yehonala Clan. That
the Old Buddha’s magnificent funeral was appreciated by the
populace of Peking is certain, for to them she was for fifty
years a sympathetic personality and a great ruler.
“The conveyance of Her Majesty’s ancestral tablet from the
tombs of the Eastern Hills to its resting-place in the Temple
of Ancestors in the Forbidden City was a ceremony in the
highest degree impressive and indicative of the vitality of
those feelings which make ancestor-worship the most important
factor in the life of the Chinese. The tablet, a simple strip
of carved and lacquered wood, bearing the name of the deceased
in Manchu and Chinese characters, had been officially present
at the burial. With the closing of the great door of the tomb
the spirit of the departed ruler is supposed to be translated
to the tablet, and to the latter is therefore given honour
equal to that which was accorded to the sovereign during
her lifetime. Borne aloft in a gorgeous chariot draped with
Imperial yellow silk and attended by a large mounted escort,
Tzŭ Hsi’s tablet journeyed slowly and solemnly, in three days’
stages, from the Eastern Hills to Peking. At each stage it
rested for the night in a specially constructed pavilion, being
‘invited’ by the Master of the Ceremonies, on his knees and
with all solemnity, to be pleased to leave its chariot and
rest. For the passage of this habitation of the spirit of the
mighty dead the Imperial road had been specially prepared and
swept by an army of men; it had become a _via sacra_ on which
no profane feet might come or go. As the procession bearing the
sacred tablet drew near to the gates of the capital, the Prince
Regent and all the high officers of the Court knelt reverently
to receive it. All traffic was stopped; every sound stilled in
the streets, where the people knelt to do homage to the memory
of the Old Buddha. Slowly and solemnly the chariot was borne
through the main gate of the Forbidden City to the Temple of
the Dynasty’s ancestors, the most sacred spot in the Empire,
where it was ‘invited’ to take its appointed place among the
nine Ancestors and their thirty-five Imperial Consorts. Before
this could be done, however, it was necessary that the tablets
of Tzŭ Hsi’s son, T’ung-Chih, and of her daughter-in-law,
should first be removed from that august assembly, because
due ceremony required that the arriving tablet should perform
obeisance to those of its ancestors, and it would not be
fitting for the tablet of a parent to perform this ceremony in
the presence of that of a son or daughter-in-law. The act of
obeisance was performed by deputy, in the person of the Regent
acting for the child Emperor, and consisted of nine kowtows
before each tablet in the Temple, or about 400 prostrations in
all. When these had been completed, with due regard to the
order of seniority of the deceased, the tablets of the Emperor
T’ung-Chih and his wife were formally ‘invited’ to return to
the Temple, where obeisance was made on their behalf to the
shade of Tzŭ Hsi which had been placed in the shrine beside
that of her former colleague and co-Regent, the Empress Tzŭ
An. Thus ended the last ceremonial act of the life and death
of this remarkable woman; but her spirit still watches over
the Forbidden City and the affairs of her people, who firmly
believe that it will in due time guide the nation to a happy
issue out of all their afflictions. As time goes on, the
weaknesses of her character and the errors of her career are
forgotten, and her greatness only remembered. And no better
epitaph could be written for this great Manchu than that of her
own valedictory Decree which, rising above all the pettiness
and humiliations of her reign, looking death and change
steadfastly in the face, raises her in our eyes (to quote a
writer in the _Spectator_)[130] ‘to that vague ideal state of
human governance imagined by the Greek, when the Kings should
be philosophers and the philosophers Kings.’”
[Illustration: MARBLE BRIDGE OVER THE LAKE IN THE WESTERN PARK WHICH
SURROUNDS THE LAKE PALACE.
_Photo, Betines, Peking._]
[Illustration: “TI WANG MIAO” OR TEMPLE TO THE MEMORY OF VIRTUOUS
EMPERORS OF PREVIOUS DYNASTIES.
_Photo, Betines, Peking._]
XXVIII
CONCLUSION
“All sweeping judgments,” says Coleridge, “are unjust.” “_Comprendre_,”
says the French philosopher, “_c’est tout pardonner_.” To understand the
life and personality of the Empress Dowager, it is before everything
essential to divest our minds of racial prejudice and to endeavour to
appreciate something of the environment and traditions to which she was
born. In the words of the thoughtful article in the _Spectator_, already
quoted, “she lived and worked and ruled in a setting which is apart from
all western modes of thought and standards of action, and the first step
in the historian’s task is to see that she is judged by her own standards
and not wholly by ours.” Judged by the rough test of public opinion and
accumulating evidence in her own country, Tzŭ Hsi’s name will go down to
history in China as that of a genius in statecraft and a born ruler, a
woman “with all the courage of a man, and more than the ordinary man’s
intelligence.”[131]
Pending that reform and liberty of the press which is still the distant
dream of “Young China,” no useful record of the life and times of the
Empress Dowager is to be expected from any Chinese writer. Despite
the mass of information which exists in the diaries and archives of
metropolitan officials and the personal reminiscences of those who knew
her well, nothing of any human interest or value has been published on
the subject in China. From the official and orthodox point of view, a
truthful biography of the Empress would be sacrilege. It is true that
in the vernacular newspapers under European protection at the Treaty
Ports, as well as in Hongkong and Singapore, Cantonese writers have
given impressions of Her Majesty’s personality and brief accounts of
her life, but these are so hopelessly biassed and distorted by hatred
of the Manchus as to be almost worthless for historical purposes, as
worthless as the dry chronicles of the Dynastic annals. Reference has
already been made to the best known of these publications, a series of
letters originally published in a Singapore newspaper and republished
under the title of “The Chinese Crisis from within,”[132] by a writer
who, under the _nom-de-plume_ of “Wen Ching,” concealed the identity of
one of K’ang Yu-wei’s most ardent disciples. His work is remarkable for
sustained invective and reckless inaccuracy, clearly intended to create
an atmosphere of hatred against the Manchus (for the ultimate benefit
of the Cantonese) in the minds of his countrymen, and to dissuade the
foreign Powers from allowing the Empress to return to Peking. Drawing on
a typically Babu store of “western learning,” this writer compares the
Empress to Circe, Semiramis, Catherine de Medici, Messalina, Fulvia, and
Julia Agrippina; quoting Dante and Rossetti to enforce his arguments, and
leavening his vituperation with a modicum of verifiable facts sufficient
to give to his narrative something of _vraisemblance_. But his judgment
is emphatically sweeping. He ignores alike Tzŭ Hsi’s undeniable good
qualities and her extenuating circumstances, the defects of her education
and the difficulties of her position, so that his work is almost
valueless.
Equally valueless, for purposes of historical accuracy, are most of the
accounts and impressions of the Empress recorded by those Europeans
(especially the ladies of the Diplomatic Body and their friends) who
saw her personality and purposes reflected in the false light which
beats upon the Dragon Throne on ceremonial occasions, or who came under
the influence of the deliberate artifices and charm of manner which she
assumed so well. Had the etiquette of her Court and people permitted
intercourse with European diplomats and distinguished visitors of
the male sex, she would certainly have acquired, and exercised over
them also, that direct personal influence which emanated from her
extraordinary vitality and will-power, influence such as the western
world has learned to associate with the names of the Emperor William of
Germany and Mr. Roosevelt. Restricted as she was to social relations with
her own sex amongst foreigners, she exerted herself, and never failed,
to produce on them an impression of womanly grace and gentleness of
disposition, which qualities we find accordingly praised by nearly all
who came in contact with her after the return of the Court, aye, even by
those who had undergone the horrors of the siege under the very walls
of her Palace. The glamour of her mysterious Court, the rarity of the
visions vouchsafed, the real charm of her manner, and the apparently
artless _bonhomie_ of her bearing, all combined to create in the minds
of the European ladies who saw her an impression as favourable as it
was opposed to every dictate of common sense and experience. In certain
notable instances, the effect of this impression reacted visibly on the
course of the Peace Protocol negotiations.
From the diary of Ching Shan we obtain an estimate of Tzŭ Hsi’s
character, formed by one who had enjoyed for years continual
opportunities of studying her at close quarters—an estimate which
was, and is, confirmed by the popular verdict, the common report of
the tea-houses and market places of the capital. Despite her swiftly
changing and uncontrolled moods, her childish lack of moral sense, her
unscrupulous love of power, her fierce passions and revenges, Tzŭ Hsi
was no more the savage monster described by “Wen Ching,” than she was
the benevolent, fashion-plate Lady Bountiful of the American magazines.
She was simply a woman of unusual courage and vitality, of strong will
and unbounded ambition, a woman and an Oriental, living out her life by
such lights as she knew, and in accordance with the traditions of her
race and caste. Says Ching Shan in the Diary: “_The nature of the Empress
is peace-loving: she has seen many springs and autumns. I myself know
well her refined and gentle tastes, her love of painting, poetry and
the theatre. When in a good mood she is the most amiable and tractable
of women, but at times her rage is awful to witness._” Here we have
the woman drawn from life, without _arrière pensée_, by a just but
sympathetic observer, the woman who could win, and hold, the affectionate
loyalty of the greatest men of her time, not to speak of that of her
retainers and serving maids; the woman whose human interest and sympathy
in everything around her, were not withered by age nor staled by custom;
yet who, at a word, could send the fierce leaders of the Boxers cowering
from her presence. _Souvent femme varie._ Tzŭ Hsi, her own mistress and
virtual ruler of the Empire at the age of twenty-four, had not had much
occasion to learn to control either her moods or her passions. Hers,
from the first, was the trick and temper of autocracy. Trained in the
traditions of a Court where human lives count for little, where power
maintains itself by pitiless and brutal methods, where treason and
foul deeds lie in waiting for the first signs of the ruler’s weakness,
how should she learn to put away from the Forbidden City the hideous
barbarities of its ways?
Let us remember her time and place. Consider the woman’s environment and
training, her marriage to a dissolute puppet, her subsequent life in that
gilded prison of the Imperial City, with its endless formalities, base
intrigues and artificial sins. Prior to the establishment of China’s
first diplomatic relations with European nations, the Court of Peking
and its ways bore a strong resemblance to those of Medieval Europe;
nor have successive routs and invasions since that date changed any of
its cherished traditions and methods. In the words of a recent writer
on medieval history, the life of the Peking Palace, like that of our
fourteenth century, “was one of profound learning and crass stupidity,
of infantile gaiety and sudden tragedy, of flashing fortunes and swift
dooms. There is a certain innocence about the very sinners of the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Many of their problems, indeed,
arose from the fact that this same childlike candour was allied to the
unworn forces of full manhood.” Whatever crimes of cruelty and vengeance
Tzŭ Hsi committed—and they were many—be it said to her credit that she
had, as a rule, the courage of her convictions and position, and sinned
_coram publico_. Beneath the fierceness without which an Oriental ruler
cannot hope to remain effective, there certainly beat a heart which could
be kind, if the conditions were propitious, and a rough sense of humour,
which is a common and pleasing trait of the Manchus.
Let us also remember that in the East to-day (as it was with us of Europe
before the growth of that humanitarianism which now shows signs of
unhealthy exaggeration) pain and death are part of the common, every-day
risks of life, risks lightly incurred by the average Oriental in the
great game of ambitions, loves and hates that is for ever played around
the Throne. Tzŭ Hsi played her royal part in the great game, but it is
not recorded of her that she ever took life from sheer cruelty or love of
killing. When she sent a man to death, it was because he stood between
her and the full and safe gratification of her love of power. When her
fierce rage was turned against the insolence of the foreigner, she had
no scruple in consigning every European in China to the executioner;
when the Emperor’s favourite concubine disputed her Imperial authority,
she had no hesitation in ordering her to immediate death; but in every
recorded instance, except one, her methods were swift, clean, and,
from the Oriental point of view, not unmerciful. She had no liking for
tortures, or the lingering death. In all her Decrees of vengeance, we
find the same unhesitating firmness in removing human obstacles from her
path, combined with a complete absence of that unnecessary cruelty which
is so frequently associated with despotism. Her methods, in fact, were
Elizabethan rather than Florentine.
If Tzŭ Hsi developed self-reliance early in life, the fact is not to
be wondered at, for it was little help that she had to look for in her
entourage of Court officials. Amongst the effete classical scholars, the
fat-paunched Falstaffs, the opium sots, doddering fatalists and corrupt
parasites of the Imperial Clans, she seems, indeed, to have been an
anachronism, a “cast-back” to the virility and energy that won China for
her sturdy ancestors. She appeared to be the born and inevitable ruler
of the degenerate Dynasty, and if she became a law unto herself, it was
largely because there were few about her fit to lead or to command.
Imbued with a very feminine love of luxury, addicted to pleasure, and at
one period of her life undoubtedly licentious after the manner of her
Court’s traditions, she combined these qualities with a shrewd common
sense and a marked penchant for acquiring and amassing personal property.
To use her own phrase, she endeavoured in all things to observe the
principle of the “happy mean,” and seldom allowed her love of pleasure to
obscure her vision or to hinder her purposes in the serious businesses of
life.
Like many great rulers of the imperious and militant type, she was
remarkably superstitious, a punctilious observer of the rites prescribed
for averting omens and conciliating the myriad gods and demons of
the several religions of China, a liberal supporter of priests and
soothsayers. Nevertheless, as with Elizabeth of England, her secular
instincts were _au fond_ stronger than all her superstitions. That sturdy
common sense, which played so successfully upon the weaknesses and the
passions of her corrupt entourage, never allowed any consideration for
the powers unseen to interfere seriously with her masterful handling of
things visible, or to curb her ruling passion for unquestioned authority.
The qualities which made up the remarkable personality of the Empress
were many and complex, but of those which chiefly contributed to her
popularity and power we would place, first, her courage, and next, a
certain simplicity and directness—both qualities that stand out in strong
relief against the timorous and tortuous tendencies of the average
Manchu. Of her courage there could be no doubt; even amidst the chaos
of the days of the Boxer terror it never failed her, and Ching Shan is
only one of many who bear witness to her unconquerable spirit and _sang
froid_. Amidst scenes of desolation and destruction that might well shake
the courage of the bravest men, we see her calmly painting bamboos on
silk, or giving orders to stop the bombardment of the Legations to allow
of her excursion on the Lake. How powerful is the dramatic quality of
that scene where she attacks and dominates the truculent Boxer leaders
at her very doors; or again when, on the morning of the flight, she
alone preserves presence of mind, and gives her orders as coolly as if
starting on a picnic! At such moments all the defects of her training
and temperament are forgotten in the irresistible appeal of her nobler
qualities.
Of those qualities, and of her divine right to rule, Tzŭ Hsi herself was
fully convinced, and no less determined than His Majesty of Germany, to
insist upon proper recognition and respect for herself and her commanding
place in the scheme of the universe. Her belief in her own supreme
importance, and her superstitious habit of thought were both strikingly
displayed on the occasion when her portrait, painted by Miss Carl for
the St. Louis Exposition, was taken from the Waiwupu on its departure to
the United States. She regarded this presentment of her august person as
entitled, in all seriousness of ceremonial, to the same reverence as
herself and gave orders for the construction of a miniature railway, to
be built through the streets of the capital for its special benefit. By
this means the “sacred countenance” was carried upright, under its canopy
of yellow silk, and Her Majesty was spared the thought of being borne in
effigy on the shoulders of coolies—a form of progress too suggestively
ill-omened to be endured. Before the portrait left the Palace, the
Emperor was summoned to prostrate himself before it, and at its passing
through the city, and along the railway line, the people humbly knelt, as
if it had been the Old Buddha of flesh and blood. Incidents of this kind
emphasise the impossibility of fairly judging the Empress by European
standards of conduct and ideas. To get something of the proper atmosphere
and perspective, we must go back to the early days of the Tudors.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE EMPRESS DOWAGER.
Painted from life by Miss Catharine A. Carl for the St. Louis Exposition,
and now the property of the American Nation.
(_Reproduced by permission of the Artist._)]
Blunt of speech herself, she was quick to detect and resent flattery.
Those who rose highest in her affection and regard were essentially
strong men, blunt outspoken officials of the type of Jung Lu, Tseng
Kuo-fan, and Tso Tsung-t’ang; for those who would win her favour by
sycophancy she had a profound contempt, which she was at no pains to
conceal, though in certain instances (_e.g._, Chang Chih-tung) she
overlooked the offence because of ripe scholarship or courage. An amusing
example of this trait in her character occurred on one occasion when,
after perusing the examination papers for the selection of successful
candidates for the Hanlin Literary degrees, she expressed herself in the
following trenchant Decree:—
“A certain candidate in the Hanlin examination, named Yen Chen,
has handed in some verses, the style of which is excellent,
but their subject matter contains a number of allusions
laudatory of the present Dynasty. This person has evidently
gone out of his way to refer to the present rulers of the
Empire, and has even seen fit to display gross flattery, for
his essay contains, amongst others, a sentence to the effect
that ‘we have now upon the Throne a female embodiment of Yao
and Shun.’[133] Now, the Throne defines merit in candidates
to-day on the same principles as those which were in force
under former Dynasties, its object being to form a correct
idea of the moral standards of candidates by perusal of their
essays and lyrical compositions. But this effort of Yen Chen
is nothing more than a laudatory ode, entirely lacking in high
seriousness. This is a grave matter: the question involved
is one closely affecting character and moral training; such
conduct cannot possibly be permitted to continue. The examiners
have placed Yen Chen at the top of the list in the First Class;
he is hereby relegated to the last place in that class. Let our
examiners for the future take more care in scrutinising the
papers submitted.”
As was only natural, Tzŭ Hsi was not above favouring her own people, the
Manchus, but one great secret of the solidity of her rule undoubtedly
lay in her broad impartiality and the nice balance which she maintained
between Chinese and Manchus in all departments of the Government. She
had realised that the brains and energy of the country must come from
the Chinese, and that if the Manchus were to retain their power and
sinecure positions, it must be with the good will of the Chinese and the
loyalty of the Mandarin class in the provinces. From the commencement
of her rule, down to the day when she handed over her Boxer kinsmen to
the executioner, she never hesitated to inflict impartial punishment on
Manchus, when public opinion was against them. A case in point occurred
in 1863, in connection with one of her favourite generals, named Sheng
Pao, who had gained her sincere gratitude by his share in the war
against the British and French invaders in 1860, and who, by luck and
the ignorance of the Court, had been credited with having stopped the
advance of the Allies to Jehol. For these alleged services she had
awarded him special thanks and high honour. In 1863, however, he was
engaged in Shensi, fighting the Taipings, and, following a custom not
unusual amongst Chinese military commanders, had asked leave to win over
one of the rebel leaders by giving him an important official position.
Tzŭ Hsi, who had had ample opportunities to learn something of the
danger of this procedure, declined to sanction his request, pointing out
the objections thereto. Sheng Pao ventured to suppress her Decree, and
gave the rebel the position in question. Success might have justified
him, but the ex-bandit justified Tzŭ Hsi by going back on his word.
Awaiting a good opportunity, he raised once more the standard of revolt,
massacred a number of officials, and captured several important towns.
General Sheng Pao was arrested and brought in custody to Peking; under
cross-examination he confessed, amongst other misdemeanours, that he had
permitted women to accompany the troops during this campaign, which, by
Chinese military law, is a capital offence. Other charges against him,
however, he denied, and, preserving an insolent attitude, demanded to
be confronted with his accusers. Tzŭ Hsi issued a characteristically
vigorous Decree in which she declared that the proper punishment for his
offence was decapitation, but inasmuch as he had acquired merit by good
work against the Taipings, as well as against the British and French
invaders, she graciously granted him the privilege of committing suicide,
of which he promptly availed himself.
Tzŭ Hsi, as we have said, was extremely superstitious; nor is this matter
for wonder when we bear in mind the medieval atmosphere of wizardous
necromancy and familiar spirits which she had perforce absorbed with her
earliest education. Following the precepts of Confucius, she preserved
always a broad and tolerant attitude on all questions of religion, but,
while reluctant to discuss things appertaining to the unknown gods,
she was always prepared to conciliate them, and to allow her actions
in everyday affairs to be guided by the words of her wise men and
astrologers—“by dreams, and by Urim and by prophets.” Thus we find her
in the first year of the Regency of her son’s minority (1861) issuing, in
his name, a Decree, which carries back the mind irresistibly to Babylon
and those days when the magicians and soothsayers were high personages in
the State.
“During the night of the 15th of the 7th Moon,” it begins,
“there occurred a flight of shooting stars in the southern
hemisphere; ten days later, a comet appeared twice in the sky
to the north-west. Heaven sends not these warnings in vain. For
the last month Peking has been visited by a grievous epidemic,
whereof the continued severity fills us with sore dismay.
The Empresses Dowager have now warned us that these portents
of Heaven are sent because of serious wrong in our system of
government, of errors unreformed and grievances unredressed,”
and the Decree ends by exhorting all concerned “to put away
frivolous things, so that Heaven, perceiving our reverend
attitude, may relent.”
In previous chapters we have shown with what punctilious attention she
consulted her astrologers in regard to the propitious day for re-entering
her capital on the Court’s return from exile, her anxiety for scrupulous
observance of their advice being manifestly sincere. In her concern for
omens and portents she seemed, like Napoleon, to obey instincts external
and superior to another and very practical side of her nature, which,
however, asserted itself unmistakably whenever vital issues were at
stake and her supreme authority threatened. She was at all times anxious
to secure the goodwill of the ancestral spirits, whose presence she
apprehended as a living reality, but even with these, when it came to
a direct issue between her own despotic authority and their claims to
consideration, she never hesitated to relegate the mighty dead to the
background, content to appease them in due season by suitable expressions
of reverence and regret. The most notable instance of this kind occurred
when, disregarding the Dynastic laws of succession, she deprived
her son, the Emperor T’ung-Chih, of the rites of ancestral worship,
committing thus a crime which, as she well knew, was heinous in the eyes
of the Chinese people.
Her superstitious tendencies were most remarkably displayed in the
matter of the selection of the site of her tomb, and its building,
an occasion of which the Court geomancers took full advantage. When
T’ung-Chih reached his majority in 1873, his first duty was to escort the
Empresses Dowager to the Eastern Mausolea, where, with much solemnity,
two auspicious sites, encircled by hills and watered by streams, were
selected and exorcised of all evil influences. Further ceremonies and
mystic calculations were required to determine the auspicious dates for
the commencement of building operations; in these, and the adornment of
the tomb, Tzŭ Hsi continued to take the keenest interest until the day
of her death. In order to secure scrupulous regard for its construction
in accordance with the requirements of her horoscope, and to make her
sepulchre a fitting and all-hallowed resting-place, she entrusted its
chief supervision to Jung Lu, who thus secured a permanent post highly
coveted by Manchu officials, in which huge “squeezes” were a matter of
precedent. The geomantic conditions of these burial places gave unusual
trouble, the tomb of the Empress Tzŭ An having eventually to be shifted
fifteen feet two inches northwards, and four feet seven and a half inches
westwards, before the spirits of her ancestors were perfectly satisfied,
while that of Tzŭ Hsi was removed seven feet four inches to the north and
eight inches to the eastward.
Tzŭ Hsi feared no man. From the first moment of her power, secure in the
sense of divine right and firmly believing in her “star,” she savoured
her authority like a rich wine. The pleasure she derived from delivering
homilies to the highest officials in the Empire may be read between
the lines of her Decrees. Already in 1862, that is to say, before she
was twenty-seven years of age, we find her solemnly admonishing the
Grand Council on their duties, urging them to adopt stricter standards
of conduct, and to put a check on their corrupt tendencies. “They are,
of course, not debarred from seeking advice from persons below them
in society, but let them be careful to avoid any attempt at forming
cabals or attracting to themselves troops of followers.” And on another
occasion, when she specially invited the Censors to impeach Prince
Kung, she observed: “In discussing the principles of just government
you should remember the precept of the Confucian school, which is,
‘Be not weary in well-doing: strict rectitude of conduct is the road
royal to good government. Face and overcome your difficulties, and thus
eventually earn the right to ease.’” Tzŭ Hsi could turn out this sort of
thing, which appeals to every Chinese scholar, in good style and large
quantities. She took pride in the manufacture of maxims for the guidance
of the Mandarins, but there was always a suspicion that her tongue was
in her cheek while she carefully penned these copybook platitudes, just
as we know there was when she set herself to display what _The Times_
correspondent at Peking called her “girlish abandon,” in order to regain
the affection of Mrs. Conger and the ladies of the Diplomatic Body.
Of the Empress Dowager’s popularity and prestige with all classes of her
subjects, there is no doubt. At Peking especially, and throughout the
Metropolitan Province, she was the object of a very general and very
sincere affection; seldom is her name spoken except with expressions of
admiration and regard, very similar in effect to the feelings of the
British people for Her Majesty Queen Victoria. Although her share of
responsibility for the Boxer rising and for the consequent sufferings
inflicted on the people was matter of common knowledge, little or no
blame was ever imputed to the Old Buddha. Her subjects loved her for her
very defects, for the foolhardy courage that had staked the Empire on a
throw. Amongst the lower classes it was the general opinion that she
had done her best, and with the best intentions. The scheme itself was
magnificent—to drive the foreigner into the sea—and it appealed to her
people as worthy of their ruler and of a better fate. If it had failed
for this time, it was the will of Heaven, and no doubt at some future
date success would justify her wisdom. If they blamed her at all, it was
for condescending to intimate relations with the hated foreigner after
the Court’s return to Peking; but even in this, she had the sympathy
rather than the censure of her subjects.
To the great mass of her people, who had never seen her, but knew
her only by cumulative weight of common report, the Old Buddha stood
for the embodiment of courage, liberality and kindness of heart. If,
as they knew, she were subject to fierce outbursts of sudden rage,
the fact did her no injury in the eyes of a race which believes that
wrath-matter undischarged is a virulent poison in the system. The
simple Chihli folk made allowance, not without its sense of humour,
for their august sovereign’s capacity to generate wrath-matter, as
for her feminine mutability: To them she was a great ruler and a _bon
enfant_. In a country where merciless officials and torture are part
of the long-accepted order of things, no more stress was laid on her
numerous acts of cold blooded tyranny than, shall we say, was laid on the
beheading of Earls at the close of the fifteenth century in England.
One of the writers had the good fortune once to see the Empress when
proceeding in her palanquin to the Eastern tombs. She had breakfasted
early at the Tung Yueh temple outside the Ch’i Hua gate, and was on
her way to T’ung chou. As her chair passed along a line of kneeling
peasantry, the curtains were open and it was seen that the Old Buddha was
asleep. The good country people were delighted. “Look,” they cried, “the
Old Buddha is sleeping. Really, she has far too much work to do! A rare
woman—what a pleasure to see her thus!”
Tzŭ Hsi was recognised to be above criticism and above the laws which
she rigorously enforced on others. For instance, when, a few weeks after
the issue of a Decree prohibiting corporal punishment and torture in
prisons, she caused the Reformer Shen Chin to be flogged to death (July,
1904), public opinion saw nothing extraordinary in the event. A few days
later, when preparations were being made for the celebration of her
seventieth birthday, she issued another Decree, declining the honorific
title dutifully proffered by the Emperor, together with its emoluments,
on the ground that she had no heart for festivities, “being profoundly
distressed at the thought of the sufferings of my subjects in Manchuria,
owing to the destruction wrought there by the Russian and Japanese
armies. My one desire,” she added, “is that my officials may co-operate
to introduce more humane methods of Government, so that my people may
live to enjoy good old age, resting on couches of comfortable ease. This
is the best way to honour the seventieth anniversary of my birth.” No
doubt the shade of Shen Chin was duly appeased.
Of her vindictive ferocity on occasions there can be no question. As
Ching Shan admits, even her most faithful admirers and servants were
aware that at moments of her wrath it was prudent to be out of her reach,
or, if unavoidably present, to abstain from thwarting her. They knew
that those who dared to question her absolute authority or to criticise
the means by which she gained and retained it, need look for no mercy.
But they knew also that for faithful service and loyalty she had a royal
memory and, like Catherine of Russia, she never forgot her friends.
Her unpopularity in central and southern China, which became marked after
the war with Japan and violent at the time of the _coup d’état_, was
in its origin anti-dynastic and political. It was particularly strong
in Kuangtung, where for years Her Majesty was denounced by agitators
as a monster of unparalleled depravity. The political opinions of the
turbulent and quick-witted Cantonese have generally been expressed in a
lively and somewhat ribald form, and when we bear in mind the popular
tendency (not confined to the Far East) of ascribing gross immorality to
crowned heads, we are justified in refusing to attach undue importance
to the wild accusations levelled against the Empress Dowager in this
quarter. The utterances of the hotspurs and lampooners of southern
China are chiefly interesting in that they reveal something of the vast
possibilities of cleavage inherent in the Chinese Government system, and
prove the Manchu rule to have fallen into something like contempt in that
region where the new forces of education and political activity are most
conspicuous.
One of the doggerel verses current in 1898 fairly describes the
attitude of the Cantonese man in the street towards the Dynasty. Freely
translated, it runs thus:—
“_There are three questions which men must not ask about our
Great Manchu Dynasty:_
“_At what ancestral grave does His Majesty make filial
obeisance?_
“_To what deity does the Empress Dowager sacrifice?_
“_To what husbands are the Imperial Princesses married?_”
The first question is in allusion to the Emperor’s alleged doubtful
parentage, while the second refers to a mythical New Year sacrifice, akin
to those of Moloch, which the scurrilous Cantonese attributed to Tzŭ Hsi
and the ladies of her Court. The last refers to the Manchu clan’s custom
of intermarriage which, in the eyes of the Chinese (who disapprove even
of marriage between persons of the same surname), is illegal and immoral.
These, however, are but local manifestations, and they lost much of
their inspiration after the _coup d’état_. The anti-dynastic tendencies
noticeable in the vernacular press of Shanghai, many of which assumed the
form of personal hostility to the Empress, were also little more than the
local result of Young China’s vague aspirations and desire for change,
and reflected little weight of serious opinion. The official class and
the _literati_ as a whole were loyal to Her Majesty and regarded her
with respect. They do not fail to express admiration of her wisdom and
statecraft, which kept the Empire together under circumstances of great
difficulty. To her selection and support of Tseng Kuo-fan they generally
attribute China’s recovery from the disasters of the Taiping rebellion,
and to her sagacity in 1898 they ascribe the country’s escape from
dangers of sudden revolution. They admit that had it not been for her
masterly handling of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy (1860-61), it is doubtful
whether the Dynasty could have held together for a decade, and they
realise, now that her strong hand no longer grasps the helm, that the
ship of State is likely to drift into dangerous waters.
The everyday routine of Tzŭ Hsi’s life has been well described in Miss
Carl’s accurate and picturesque account of the Palace ceremonial and
amusements,[134] the first authoritative picture of _la vie intime_ of
the Chinese Court. Apart from a keen natural aptitude for State affairs
(similar to that of Queen Victoria, whom she greatly admired from afar),
Tzŭ Hsi maintained to the end of her days a lively interest in literature
and art, together with a healthy and catholic appetite for amusement. She
had an inveterate love for the theatre, for masques and pageants, which
she indulged at all times and places, taking a professional interest in
the players and giving much advice about the performances, which she
selected daily from a list submitted to her. It was a matter of comment,
and some hostile criticism by Censors, that even during the sojourn of
the Court in the provincial wilderness at Hsi-an, she summoned actors to
follow the Court and perform as usual.
Her private life had, no doubt, its phases. Of its details we know but
little prior to the period of the restoration of the Summer Palace in the
early nineties. In middle age, however, when she had assimilated the
philosophy and practice of the “happy mean,” her tastes became simple and
her habits regular. She was passionately fond of the Summer Palace, of
its gardens and the lake amongst the hills, and towards the end of her
life went as seldom as possible into the city. She loved the freedom of
the I-ho Yüan, its absence of formal etiquette, her water-picnics and
the familiar intercourse of her favourite ladies, with whom she would
discuss the day’s news and the gossip of the Imperial Clans. With these,
especially with the wife of Jung Lu and the Princess Imperial, she would
talk endlessly of old times and make plans for the future.
Her love of literature and profound knowledge of history did much to win
for her the respect of the Mandarin class, with whom the classics are
a religion. In her reading she was, however, broad-minded, not to say
omnivorous; it was her custom to spend a certain time daily in having
ancient and modern authors read aloud by eunuchs specially trained in
elocution. She believed thoroughly in education, though realising clearly
the danger of putting new wine into old skins; and she perceived towards
the end of her life that the rapidly changing conditions of the Empire
had rendered the wisdom of China’s Sages of little practical value as
a basis of administration. Her clearness of perception on this point,
contrasted with her action in 1898, is indeed remarkable, but it should
be remembered that much of her opposition to the Emperor’s policy of
reform was the result of personal pique and outraged dignity, as in the
case of her decision to become a Boxer leader in 1900. As far back as
1876, at the time of the establishment of the T’ung Wen College at Peking
for the teaching of languages and science, we find her publicly rebuking
a Censor who had declared that mathematics was a subject suitable only
for the Court of Astronomers.
“The Throne has established this College,” she observed, “because it is
incumbent on our scholars to learn the rudiments of mathematics and
astronomy. These are not to be regarded, as the Memorialist suggests, as
cunning and mechanical branches of knowledge. Let our officials study
them earnestly, and they will soon acquire proficiency; at the same
time let them avoid that undesirable specialisation which comes from
concentrated study of the classics. We are now borrowing educational
methods from foreign countries with a view to broadening our own and
increasing its accuracy, but we have no intention of abandoning the
teachings of the Sages. How, then, can our action prove detrimental to
the minds of scholars?”
Frequent reference has been made in previous chapters to the extravagance
and licentious display of Tzŭ Hsi’s Court during the years of the first
Regency. The remonstrances of the Censors on the subject were so numerous
and outspoken, so circumstantial in their charges, as to leave little
room for doubt that the Empress deserved their indignant condemnation.
All the records of that period, and particularly from 1862 to 1869, point
to the evil and steadily-increasing influence of the eunuchs, whose
corruption and encouragement of lavish expenditure resulted in continual
demands on the provincial exchequers. But even at the height of what
may fairly be called her riotous living, Tzŭ Hsi always had the good
grace to concur publicly in the virtuous suggestions of her monitors,
and to conciliate public opinion by professions of a strong desire for
economy. She would have her Imperial way, her splendid pageants and
garnered wealth of tribute, but the Censors should have their “face.” On
the occasion of the Emperor T’ung-Chih’s wedding in 1869, when the Grand
Council had solemnly deprecated any increase in her Palace expenditure
because of the impoverished state of the people brought about by the
Taiping rebellion, she issued a Decree stating that, “so great was her
perturbation of mind at the prevalent sufferings of her people, that she
grudged even the money spent on the inferior raiment she was wearing, and
the humble fare that was served at her Palace table.” She was, in fact,
as lavish of good principles as of the public funds. But it is to be
remembered that a large proportion of the vast sums spent on her Palaces,
on the building of her tomb, and on her Court festivities, represents
the squeezes of officials and eunuchs, which, however solemnly the
Grand Council might denounce extravagance, are in practice universally
recognised as inseparable from the Celestial system of government. Tzŭ
Hsi was fully aware that much of the enormous expenditure charged to
her Privy Purse went in “squeeze,” but she good-humouredly acquiesced
in a custom as deeply ingrained in the Chinese as ancestral worship,
and from which she herself derived no small profit. At her receptions
to the ladies of the Diplomatic Body she would frequently enquire as to
the market prices of household commodities, in order, as she cheerfully
explained, to be able to show her Chief Eunuch that she was aware of his
monstrous over-charges.
Combined, however, with her love of sumptuous display and occasional fits
of Imperial munificence, Tzŭ Hsi possessed a certain housewifely instinct
of thrift which, with advancing age, verged on parsimony. The Privy Purse
of China’s ruler is not dependent upon any well-defined civil list,
but rather upon the exigencies of the day, upon the harvests and trade
of the Empire, whence, through percentages of squeezes levied by the
provincial authorities, come the funds required to defray the expenses
of the Court.[135] The uncertainty of these remittances partly explains
the Empress Dowager’s hoarding tendencies, that squirrel instinct which
impelled her to bury large sums in the vaults of the Palace, and to
accumulate a vast store of silks, medicines, clocks, and all manner of
valuables in the Forbidden City. At the time of her death her private
fortune, including a large number of gold Buddhas and sacrificial
vessels stored in the Palace vaults, was estimated by a high official of
the Court at about sixteen millions sterling. The estimate is necessarily
a loose one, being Chinese, but it was known with tolerable certainty
that the hoard of gold[136] buried in the Ning-Shou Palace at the time
of the Court’s flight in 1900, amounted to sixty millions of taels (say,
eight millions sterling), and the “tribute” paid by the provinces to the
Court at T’ai-yüan and Hsi-an would amount to as much more.
Tzŭ Hsi was proud of her personal appearance, and justly so, for she
retained until advanced old age a clear complexion and youthful features.
(To an artist who painted her portrait not long before her death she
expressed a wish that her wrinkles should be left out.) By no means free
from feminine vanity, she devoted a considerable amount of time each day
to her toilet, and was particularly careful about the dressing of her
hair. At the supreme moment of the Court’s flight from the Palace, in
1900, she was heard to complain bitterly at being compelled to adopt the
Chinese fashion of head-dress.
Her good health and vitality were always extraordinary. She herself
attributed them chiefly to early rising, regular habits, and the frequent
consumption of milk, which she usually took curdled, in the form of a
kind of rennet. She ate frugally but well, being an epicure at heart and
delighting in dainty and _recherché_ menus. Opium, like other luxuries,
she took in strict moderation, but greatly enjoyed her pipe after the
business of the day was done. It was her practice then to rest for an
hour, smoking at intervals, a _siesta_ which the Court knew better
than to disturb. She fully realised the evils wrought by abuse of the
insidious drug, and approved of the laws, introduced by the initiative
of T’ang Shao-yi and other high officials, for its abolition. But her
fellow-feeling for those who, like herself, could use it in moderation,
and her experience of its soothing and stimulating effect on the mind,
led her to insist that the Abolition Decree (November 22nd, 1906)
should not deprive persons over sixty years of age of their accustomed
solace. She was, in fact, willing to decree prohibition for the masses,
but lenient to herself and to those who had sufficiently proved their
capacity to follow the path of the happy mean.
Such was Tzŭ Hsi, a woman whose wonderful personality and career cannot
fail to secure for her a place amongst the rulers who have become the
standards and pivots of greatness in the world’s history. The marvellous
success of her career and the passionate devotion of her partisans
are not to be easily explained by any ordinary process of analysis or
comparison; but there is no doubt that they were chiefly due to that
mysterious and indefinable quality which is called charm, a quality
apparently independent alike of morals, ethics, education, and what we
call civilisation; universal in its appeal, irresistible in its effect
upon the great majority of mankind. It was this personal charm of the
woman, combined with her intense vitality and accessibility, that won for
her respect, and often affection, even from those who had good reason
to deplore her methods and deny her principles. This personal charm,
this subtle and magnetic emanation, was undoubtedly the secret of that
stupendous power with which, for good or evil, she ruled for half a
century a third of the population of the earth; that charm it was that
won to her side the bravest and best of China’s picked men, and it is the
lingering memory and tradition of that charm which already invest the
name of the Old Buddha with attributes of legendary virtue and superhuman
wisdom.
Europeans, studying the many complex and unexpected phases of her
extraordinary personality from the point of view of western moralities,
have usually emphasised and denounced her cold-blooded ferocity and
homicidal rage. Without denying the facts, or extenuating her guilt,
it must, nevertheless, be admitted that it would be unjust to expect
from her compliance with standards of morals and conduct of which she
was perforce ignorant, and that, judged by the standards of her own
predecessors and contemporaries, and by the verdict of her subjects, she
is not to be reckoned a wicked woman. Let it be remembered also that
within comparatively recent periods of English history, death was dealt
out with no niggard or gentle hand to further the alleged interests of
the State; men were hanged, drawn and quartered in the days of Elizabeth
and Mary Stuart, gentle ladies both, and averse to the spilling of
blood, for the greater glory of Thrones, and in defence of the Christian
religion.
Tzŭ Hsi died as she had lived, keen to the last, impatient of the bonds
of sickness that kept her from the new day’s work, hopeful ever for the
future. Unto the last her thoughts were of the Empire, of that new plan
of Constitutional Government wherein she had come to see visions of a
new and glorious era for China and for herself. And when the end came,
she faced it, as she had faced life, with a stout heart and brave words,
going out to meet the Unknown as if she were but starting for a summer
picnic. Reluctantly she bade farewell to the world of men, to the life
she had lived with so keen a zest; but, unlike England’s Tudor Queen, she
bowed gracefully to the inevitable, leaving the scene with steadfast and
Imperial dignity, confident in her high destinies to come.
FINIS.
[Illustration: THE IMPERIAL DAÏS IN THE CH’IEN CH’ING HALL.
_Photo, Ogawa, Tokio._]
APPENDIX
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES ON CHANG CHIH-TUNG, TSO TSUNG-T’ANG, SUN CHIA-NAI, AND
TUAN FANG
CHANG CHIH-TUNG
Her Majesty was never on terms of any great intimacy with Chang
Chih-tung, but she respected him on account of his brilliant literary
style and profound knowledge of the classics. The career of this official
strikingly illustrates the power of the pen in China. He first came to
be known by a critical Memorial in reference to the funeral ceremonies
of the Emperor T’ung-Chih, in 1879; his subsequent rapid advancement was
due to the Memorial in which he denounced the cession of Ili to Russia by
the Manchu Ambassador, Ch’ung Hou, in 1880. At this time Chang was still
a poor scholar, earning a precarious livelihood by composing Memorials
for certain wealthy Censors. He spoke the Mandarin dialect badly, having
been brought up by his father (a Taotai) in the province of Kueichou.
By patient study, a splendid memory and a natural talent for historical
research and criticism, he became at an early age a recognised authority
on all questions of State precedents and historical records, so that his
pen found no lack of work in the drafting of official patents of rank,
Imperial inscriptions and similar documents. Nevertheless, Tzŭ Hsi never
cared for the man, realising that this brilliant scholar was by nature an
opportunist, and that his opinion was rarely based on sincere conviction.
Her estimate of him was amply justified on more than one occasion, for
he frequently changed his views to meet the exigencies of party politics
at the capital; it is indeed somewhat remarkable, since this estimate
of his character was shared by most of his colleagues, that he should
have retained her good will and risen to the highest position in the
Government. His successful career[137] is explained by the fact that even
men like Jung Lu and Li Hung-chang, who disliked him thoroughly, were
unable to deny his claims as an unrivalled scholar.
As an illustration of his historical knowledge and methods, it is
interesting to recall the main features of his Memorial against the
Treaty of Livadia with Russia. By this Treaty, negotiated by Ch’ung Hou
under the direct instructions of the Empress Dowager, Ili was to be
retroceded to China upon payment of five million roubles, Russia securing
Kuldja in exchange, with the right to open Consulates at certain places
in the New Territory and on the Kansu frontier. Russian goods were also
to be free of duty in Chinese Turkestan, and a new trade route was to be
opened up through Central China, viâ Hsi-an in Shensi. When the terms of
the Treaty became known, a storm of angry criticism was directed against
the Manchu Ambassador: Tzŭ Hsi promptly ordered him to be cashiered and
arrested for disregard of her instructions. The whole matter was referred
to the Grand Council, who were directed to consult with Prince Ch’un and
the various Government Boards. Chang Chih-tung, who was at this time a
junior official in the Department of Public Instruction, drew attention
to himself and practically decided the course of events by the advice
given in his lengthy Memorial on the subject. The result of the advice
therein submitted was, that a son of Tseng Kuo-fan was sent to Russia
to negotiate a new Treaty, in which the objectionable clauses were
eventually abandoned. Ch’ung Hou considered himself lucky that, as the
result of Russia’s diplomatic intervention on his behalf, he escaped with
his life.
Chang’s famous Memorial is typical of the mental processes and puerile
naïveté of the _literati_. It began by showing that if the Treaty of
Livadia were ratified, the whole of China would be open to Russian
troops, who would enter the country as merchants accompanying caravans
(since the Treaty expressly provided for merchants carrying fire-arms),
and that the retrocession of Ili would prove valueless to China in
course of time, inasmuch as Russia would remain in command of all
strategic points. Chang urged that China could repudiate the Treaty
without danger to herself, for several good reasons; the first being
the Imperial prerogative and the unpopularity of the Treaty, whereby
the martial spirit of the Chinese people would be aroused, and the
second, that the future security of the Empire justified the adoption of
right and reasonable precautions. He recommended that, in order to show
that the displeasure of the Sovereign was sincere, Ch’ung Hou should
be decapitated forthwith; this would be a clear intimation that his
negotiations were disavowed; an excellent precedent existed in the case
of Ch’i Ying,[138] who had been permitted to commit suicide under similar
circumstances by the Emperor Hsien Feng.
As regards Russia’s position in the matter, he was of opinion that China
had earned the contempt of the whole world by allowing herself to be so
easily intimidated. The Russian Minister at Peking might talk as loudly
as he liked about hauling down his flag, but this was only bluff, and if
he really desired to take his departure he should be allowed to do so.
China should then address an identical Note to all the Powers protesting
against Russia’s action, which Note would be published throughout the
civilised world. Russia had been weakened by her war with Turkey, and the
life of her Sovereign was daily threatened by Nihilists. He was therefore
of opinion that she could by no means fight a successful war against
China.
Russia’s position in the neighbourhood of Ili by this Treaty would
eventually involve China in the loss of the New Territory. Now China
had not yet taken over Ili, and the Treaty had not been ratified by the
Sovereign, so that Russia could have no good ground for insisting upon
its terms; if, however, Russia were intent on compelling China to yield
or fight, it would be necessary to look to the defences of the Empire
in three directions, namely Turkestan, Kirin and Tientsin. As regards
Turkestan, Tso Tsung-t’ang’s victorious armies, which had just succeeded
in suppressing the Mahomedan rebellion after a campaign of several
years, would be quite capable of dealing with Russia’s forces were she
to attempt an invasion. As for Manchuria, it was too far from Russia’s
base of operations to render success even possible, while the stalwart
natives of the Eastern Provinces might be relied upon to dislodge her
should she eventually succeed in establishing a foothold. A few months
would certainly witness her irrevocable defeat. As to invading China by
sea, Russia’s Navy was not to be compared to that of other Powers, and if
the huge amount which had been spent by Li Hung-chang on armaments for
the Army and Navy were ever to be turned to any good account, now was
the time to do it. If at this juncture Li Hung-chang proved incapable of
dealing with the situation, he was for ever useless. The Throne should
direct him to prepare for war, and he should equip his troops with the
latest pattern of French artillery. If victorious, a Dukedom should be
his reward, and if defeated, his head should pay the penalty. The money
which would be saved by not carrying out the Treaty, might very well be
devoted to the equipment of the military forces.
Russia’s designs in Turkestan, he continued, threatened England no less
than China. If Li Hung-chang could persuade the British Minister that
England’s interests were identical with those of China, surely the
British Government’s assistance might be forthcoming? China possessed,
moreover, several distinguished generals, who should forthwith be
summoned to the capital, and given command of troops at different points
between Peking and Manchuria. It was high time that China’s prestige
should be made manifest and re-established. And in his peroration he
says:—
“I am not indulging in empty resounding phrases, or asking
Your Majesties to risk the Empire upon a single throw of the
dice, but the crisis daily increases in seriousness: Europe is
interfering in our sovereign rights, while even Japan threatens
to take territory from us. If now we submit to the arbitrary
proceedings of Russia, all the other Powers will imitate her
action, and we shall be compelled sooner or later to take up
arms in self-defence. The present, therefore, is the moment for
a decisive campaign; we have good chances of victory, and even
should we meet with defeat in the New Territory it would not
serve Russia greatly, for she could scarcely hope to penetrate
beyond the Great Wall, or to cross the border into Kansu, so
that, even if victorious, she would be severely embarrassed. If
we postpone action for a few years Tso Tsung-t’ang will be too
old to conduct military operations, and Li Hung-chang will be
also advancing in years. Russia will hem us in on all sides,
and our courage will suffer from our very inaction. It is
better to fight Russia to-day on our furthermost frontier, than
to wait until we have to give battle at the gates of Peking: it
will then be too late for repentance. We must fight sooner or
later, and in any case, we cannot consent to the retrocession
of Ili. Come what may, Ch’ung Hou must be beheaded. This is
not merely my private opinion, but the unanimous decision of
all your leading Statesmen. The provinces may work together
to prepare for war, all your servants may set an example of
courage. Our Foreign Office may clearly express and insist upon
our rights, but in the last instance the decision of affairs
rests with Your Majesty the Empress Dowager, to whom we must
needs look for a firm and consistent policy.”
In spite of its childish arguments and colossal ignorance of foreign
affairs, and in spite of the absurdity of allowing the nation’s military
operations to be criticised and dictated by a theoretical scholar, this
Memorial had a most remarkable effect on the opinion of the Court, and
Tzŭ Hsi commanded that its author should be consulted by the Foreign
Office on all important questions of State—a striking case of _parmi
les aveugles_. Chang was promoted to be Vice-President of a Board, and
within a year was made Governor of Shansi, where he further increased his
reputation by his entirely sincere attack upon opium smoking and poppy
cultivation. Throughout his career, safe in the comfortable seclusion of
his Yamên, and judging every question of foreign policy by the light
of the history of previous Dynasties, Chang Chih-tung was always of a
bellicose disposition on paper. He displayed it again in 1884, when he
advocated the war with France, and became acting Viceroy at Canton.
(He was a firm believer in the military genius of the swash-buckling
Li Ping-heng, even to the day when this notorious reactionary met his
death with the forlorn hope of the Boxers.) When the French troops were
defeated by the Chinese forces at Langshan, Chang claimed and received
no small credit for an event so unusual in Chinese modern history, and
became so elated thereby that he sent in a Memorial strongly recommending
that the victory should be followed up by an invasion of all French
territory between the Chinese frontier and Hanoi. When this advice was
rejected, he put in another bitter Memorial of remonstrance which created
an immense impression on public opinion. He denounced the peace which was
subsequently signed and by which China lost Annam, and he never forgave
his rival and opponent, Li Hung-chang, for his share in this result.
Chang’s share in the _coup d’état_ of 1898 aptly illustrates his
opportunism. It was he who from Wuch’ang originally recommended some
thirty “progressives” to the notice of the Emperor at the beginning of
that fateful year, and amongst these was Liang Ch’i-ch’ao, the chief
colleague and henchman of K’ang Yu-wei. Rejoiced at the great Viceroy’s
support, the Emperor summoned him to Peking to assume direction of the
new movement, hoping the more from his assistance as Chang’s views
always carried weight with the Empress Dowager. It is impossible to
say what course Chang would have followed had he come to Peking, or
what effect his presence might have had in preventing the collapse of
the Emperor’s plans, but as luck would have it, he had only proceeded
as far as Shanghai, when he was ordered back to his post in Hupei by
an Imperial Decree, which directed him first to settle a troublesome
missionary case that had just arisen. Immediately after this, the
dismissal of Weng T’ung-ho, and the appointment of Jung Lu to Tientsin,
showed him that a crisis was impending and that the reactionary party
held the better cards; he played therefore for his own hand, anticipating
that the Empress Dowager would speedily come to the front as leader
of the Manchu Conservatives. It was at this particular juncture that
he wrote and published his famous treatise on education, intended to
refute the arguments of a revolutionary pamphlet that was then being
widely circulated in the provinces of his jurisdiction. His treatise,
by its brilliant style rather than by its arguments, created a great
impression; its effect on the Chinese reader’s mind was to emphasise the
wisdom of learning everything possible of the material arts and forces of
Europe, while keeping the foreigner himself at arm’s length.
In 1900, at the urgent request of the Viceroy of Nanking (Lui K’un-yi)
and of Li Hung-chang, he agreed to join in a Memorial impeaching Prince
Tuan, and telegrams were exchanged between these high officials to
discuss the form which this document should take. In the first instance,
Chang had declined to protest against the Emperor’s deposition for the
reason, which he justified by historical precedent, that the suicide of
the Censor Wu K’o-tu, twelve years before, had justified Her Majesty in
placing a new Emperor on the Throne. He concurred in the decision of the
Nanking Viceroy to head off any Boxer rising in the Yangtsze Provinces,
but he was obviously uneasy at his own position in having to disobey the
Empress Dowager’s anti-foreign Decrees, and he hedged to the best of
his ability by beheading two prominent reformers at Wuch’ang. No sooner
had the form of the document impeaching Prince Tuan been practically
decided, than he took fright at the thought that the Prince might
eventually triumph and, as father of the Emperor-elect, wreak vengeance
on his enemies; he therefore telegraphed to Li Hung-chang at Shanghai,
begging that his signature be withheld from the Memorial. Li Hung-chang,
who dearly loved his joke, promptly sent off the Memorial with Chang
Chih-tung’s signature attached thereto, and then telegraphed informing
him that he had done so, and asking whether he desired that a second
telegram be sent to Her Majesty cancelling his signature? Chang was for
several days in a state of the greatest distress (which was only relieved
when the Boxers were finally routed), and his mood was not improved when
a pair of scrolls were sent to him anonymously, with inscriptions which
may be roughly translated as follows:—
“Full of patriotism, but quite devoid of any real ability or
intelligence.”
“As an administrator a bungler, but remarkable for originating
magnificent schemes.”
Before his death, Chang had achieved a curiously mixed reputation,
revered as he was by all scholars throughout the Empire, yet denounced
on all sides for administrative incapacity. As an instance of the
childish self-sufficiency which characterised him to the end, nothing is
more remarkable than the suggestion which he solemnly submitted to the
Throne, during the course of the peace negotiations for the Portsmouth
Treaty after the conclusion of the war between Russia and Japan. At this
juncture, the Empress Dowager had telegraphed inviting suggestions for
China’s future policy from all the high provincial authorities. Chang
telegraphed five suggestions in reply, one of which was that China should
come to an agreement with Japan to send two hundred thousand Japanese
troops to Manchuria, and in the event of Russia proceeding to attack
Chinese territory, that Japan should be requested to garrison Urga. This
was the idea of China’s foremost literary statesman in July, 1905, but
there were not lacking enemies of his who avowed that his political views
were considerably affected by the fact that he had contracted loans from
Japanese financiers. Whatever the cause of his views, he had reason to
change them completely before he died.
TSO TSUNG-T’ANG
The Chinese look upon Tseng Kuo-fan, the conqueror of the Taiping rebels,
as the greatest military commander in modern history; but they regard
Tso Tsung-t’ang, the hero of the long Mahomedan campaign, as very near
to him in glory. Both Generals were natives of Hunan (a fact which
seems to entitle the people of that province to assume something of a
truculent attitude to the rest of the Empire), and both were possessed of
indisputable qualities of leadership and organisation, remarkable enough
in men trained to literary pursuits. Both were beloved of the people for
their personal integrity, courage and justice.
Tso was born, one of nine sons in a poor family, in 1812. He took his
provincial graduate degree at the age of twenty; thereafter, he seems
to have abandoned literary work, for he never passed the Metropolitan
examination. This did not prevent the Empress Dowager from appointing
him, after his victorious campaign, to the Grand Secretariat, the
only instance of a provincial graduate attaining to that high honour.
For three years he was Tseng Kuo-fan’s ablest lieutenant against the
Taipings, and became Governor of Fukhien in 1863. In 1868 he was
appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial forces against the Mahomedan
rebels, and began a campaign which lasted, with breathing spaces, until
the beginning of 1878. His victorious progress through the western and
north-western provinces began at Hsiang-Yang, on the Han river, in Hupei.
Thence, after driving the rebels from Hsi-an, through Shansi and Kansu,
he came to a halt before the strong city of Su-chou fu, on the north-west
frontier of Kansu. The siege of this place lasted nearly three years, for
his force was badly off for ordnance, and he was compelled to wait until
his deputies purchased artillery for him from a German firm at Shanghai.
The guns were sent up in the leisurely manner affected by the Mandarins,
and Tso was obliged to put his troops to agricultural work in order to
provide himself with commissariat.
Su-chou had been for ten years in the hands of the rebels. It fell to
the Imperialists in October, 1873, some say by treachery, according
to others by assault. Be this as it may, Tso, whose method of dealing
with rebels was absolutely pitiless, reduced the place to a heap of
ruins, killing men, women and children indiscriminately, throughout
large tracts of country. So fearful were the wholesale massacres and
treacherous atrocities committed by his Hunanese troops, that General
Kauffmann, commanding the Russian forces on the frontier, considered
it his duty to address him on the subject, and to protest indignantly
at the indiscriminate killing of non-combatants. General Kauffmann
alluded chiefly to the massacre which had followed the taking of
the town of Manas (November, 1876), but similar atrocities had been
perpetrated at Su-chou, Hami, and many other important places. At Hami
the entire population was put to the sword. Eye-witnesses of the scene
of desolation, which stretched from Hsi-an in Shensi to Kashgar, have
recorded that scarcely a woman was left alive in all those ruined
cities—one might ride for days and not see one—a fact which accounts for
the failure of the country unto this day to recover from the passing of
that scourge. In more than one instance, Tso said with pride that he had
left no living thing to sow new seeds of rebellion.[139]
Nor do the Chinese find anything reprehensible in his action.
Instinctively a peace-loving people, they have learned through centuries
of dreadful experience that there can be no humanitarianism in these
ever-recurring rebellions, which are but one phase of the deadly struggle
for life in China, and that the survival of the fittest implies the
extermination of the unfit. Tso had first learned this lesson in the
fierce warfare of the Taiping rebellion, where there was no question of
quarter, asked or given, on either side. “If I destroy them not,” he
would say with simple grimness, “if I leave root or branch, they may
destroy me.”
In private life the man was genial and kindly, of a rugged simplicity;
short of stature, and in later years stout, with a twinkling eye and
hearty laugh; sober and frugal in his habits, practising the classical
virtues of the ancients in all sincerity: a strict disciplinarian, and
much beloved of his soldiers. He delighted in gardening and the planting
of trees. Along the entire length of the Imperial highway that runs from
Hsi-an to Chia-Yü Kuan beyond the Great Wall, thirty-six days’ journey,
he planted an avenue of trees, a stately monument of green to mark the
red route of his devastating armies. One of the few Europeans who saw him
at Hami records that it was his habit to walk in the Viceregal gardens
every afternoon, accompanied by a large suite of officials and Generals,
when he would count his melons and expatiate on the beauty of his
favourite flowers. With him, ready for duty at a word, walked his Chief
Executioner.
He was as careful for the welfare of his people as for the extermination
of rebels, and erected a large woollen factory at Lan-chou fu, whereby he
hoped to establish a flourishing industry throughout the north-western
provinces. He was fiercely opposed to opium cultivation, and completely
suppressed it along the valley of the Yellow River for several years. The
penalty for opium-smoking in his army was the loss of one ear for a first
offence, and death for the second.
Yakoub Beg, the last leader and forlorn hope of the rebellion, died in
May, 1877. Tso, following up his successes, captured in turn Yarkand,
Kashgar and Khotan (January, 1878), and thus ended the insurrection. At
the conclusion of the campaign he had some forty thousand Hunanese troops
at Hami, and twenty thousand more under General Liu[140] at Kashgar. One
of his Generals was that Tung Fu-hsiang who subsequently became known to
the world as the leader of the bloodthirsty Kansuh soldiery at Peking in
1900; at the taking of Khotan he laid the foundations of his reputation
for truculent ferocity. Tso firmly believed that his Hunanese were the
finest fighting men in the world, and was most anxious to use them, in
1879, in trying conclusions with the Russians, boasting that with two
hundred thousand of them he would easily march to St. Petersburg and
there dictate a peace which should wipe out the humiliating concessions
negotiated by Ch’ung Hou in the Treaty of Livadia. Fortunately for him,
his patriotic ambitions came to the ears of the Empress Dowager, who,
desiring no more complications, recalled him in hot haste to Peking,
where she loaded him with honours and rewards.
His was the simple nature of the elementary fighter, inured to the hard
life of camps. He knew little of other lands, but professed the greatest
admiration for Bismarck, chiefly because of the enormous indemnity which
the German conqueror had exacted as the price of victory, Tso’s own
troops being accustomed to live almost exclusively on the spoils of war.
He despised wealth for himself, but loved plunder for his men.
Upon his triumphant return to Peking he was informed that the Palace
authorities expected him to pay forty thousand taels as “gate-money”
before entering the capital. Tso flatly refused. “The Emperor has sent
for me,” he said, “and I have come, but I will not pay a cash. If he
wishes to see me, he must either obtain for me free entry or pay the
gate-money himself.” He waited stolidly five days and then had his way,
entering scot-free. Later, when the Empress Dowager made him a present
of ten thousand taels, he divided the money between his soldiers and the
poor.
SUN CHIA-NAI
This official, chiefly known to fame among his countrymen as one of
the tutors of His Majesty Kuang-Hsü, was a sturdy Conservative of the
orthodox type, but an honest and kindly man. His character and opinions
may be gauged from a well-known saying of his: “One Chinese character is
better than ten thousand words of the barbarians. By knowing Chinese a
man may rise to become a Grand Secretary; by knowing the tongues of the
barbarians, he can at best aspire to become the mouth-piece of other men.”
[Illustration: CEILING AND PILLARS OF THE TAI HO TIEN.
_Photo, Ogawa, Tokio._]
In his later years he felt and expressed great grief at the condition
of his country, and particularly in regard to the strained relations
between the Empress Dowager and the Emperor. He traced the first causes
of these misfortunes to the war with Japan, and never ceased to blame
his colleague, the Imperial Tutor Weng T’ung-ho, for persuading the
Emperor to sign the Decree whereby that war was declared, which he
described as the act of a madman. Weng, however, was by no means alone
in holding the opinion that China could easily dispose of the Japanese
forces by land and by sea. It was well-known at Court, and the Emperor
must have learned it from more than one quarter, that several foreigners
holding high positions under the Chinese Government, including the
Inspector-General of Customs (Sir Robert Hart), concurred in the view
that China had practically no alternative but to declare war in view of
Japan’s high-handed proceedings and insulting attitude. Prestige apart,
it was probable that the Emperor was by no means averse to taking this
step on his own authority, even though he knew that the Empress Dowager
was opposed to the idea of war, because of its inevitable interference
with the preparations for her sixtieth birthday; at that moment, Tzŭ Hsi
was living in quasi-retirement at the Summer Palace. After war had been
declared and China’s reverses began, she complained to the Emperor and
to others, that the fatal step had been taken without her knowledge and
consent, but this was only “making face,” for it is certain that she
had been kept fully informed of all that was done and that, had she so
desired, she could easily have prevented the issue of the Decree, and the
despatch of the Chinese troops to Asan. Sun Chia-nai’s reputation for
sagacity was increased after the event, and upon the subsequent disgrace
and dismissal of Weng T’ung-ho he stood high in Her Majesty’s favour.
Nevertheless his loyalty to the unfortunate Emperor remained unshaken.
In 1898, his tendencies were theoretically on the side of reform, but
he thoroughly disapproved of the methods and self-seeking personality
of K’ang Yu-wei, advising the Emperor that, while possibly fit for
an Under-Secretaryship, he was quite unfitted for any high post of
responsibility. When matters first approached a crisis, it was by his
advice that the Emperor directed K’ang to proceed to Shanghai for the
organisation of the Press Bureau scheme. Sun, peace-loving and prudent,
hoped thereby to find an outlet for K’ang Yu-wei’s patriotic activities
while leaving the Manchu dovecots unfluttered. Later, after the _coup
d’état_, being above all things orthodox and a stickler for harmonious
observance of precedents, he deplored the harsh treatment and humiliation
inflicted upon the Emperor. It is reported of him that on one occasion at
audience he broke down completely, and with tears implored the Empress
Dowager not to allow her mind to be poisoned against His Majesty, but
without effect.
Upon the nomination of the Heir Apparent, in 1900, which he, like
many others, regarded as the Emperor’s death sentence, he sent in a
strongly worded Memorial against this step, and subsequently denounced
it at a meeting of the Grand Council. Thereafter, his protests proving
ineffective, he resigned all his offices, but remained at the capital
in retirement, watching events. At the commencement of the Boxer
crisis, unable to contain his feelings, he sent in a Memorial through
the Censorate denouncing the rabid reactionary Hsü T’ung, whom he
described as “the friend of traitors, who would bring the State to ruin
if further confidence were placed in him.” Throughout his career he
displayed the courage of his convictions, which, judged by the common
standard of Chinese officialdom, were conspicuously honest. He was a man
of that Spartan type of private life which one finds not infrequently
associated with the higher branches of Chinese scholarship and Confucian
philosophy; it was his boast that he never employed a secretary, but
wrote out all his correspondence and Memorials with his own hand.
A pleasing illustration of his character is the following: He was seated
one day in his shabby old cart, and driving down the main street to
his home, when his driver collided with the vehicle of a well-known
Censor, named Chao. The police came up to make enquiries and administer
street-justice, but learning that one cart belonged to the Grand
Secretary Sun, they told his driver to proceed. The Censor, justly
indignant at such servility, wrote a note to Sun in which he said: “The
Grand Secretary enjoys, no doubt, great prestige, but even he cannot
lightly disregard the power of the Censorate.” Sun, on receiving this
note, proceeded at once on foot in full official dress to the Censor’s
house, and upon being informed that he was not at home, prostrated
himself before the servant, saying: “The nation is indeed to be
congratulated upon possessing a virtuous Censor.” Chao, not to be outdone
in generosity, proceeded in his turn to the residence of the Grand
Secretary, intending to return the compliment, but Sun declined to allow
him to apologise in any way.
TUAN FANG
In 1898, Tuan Fang was a Secretary of the Board of Works; his rapid
promotion after that date was chiefly due to the patronage of his friend
Jung Lu. For a Manchu, he is remarkably progressive and liberal in his
views.
In 1900, he was Acting-Governor of Shensi. As the Boxer movement spread
and increased in violence, and as the fears of Jung Lu led him to take
an increasingly decided line of action against them, Tuan Fang, acting
upon his advice, followed suit. In spite of the fact that at the time of
the _coup d’état_ he had adroitly saved himself from clear identification
with the reformers and had penned a classical composition in praise of
filial piety, which was commonly regarded as a veiled reproof to the
Emperor for not yielding implicit obedience to the Old Buddha, he had
never enjoyed any special marks of favour at the latter’s hands, nor been
received into that confidential friendliness with which she frequently
honoured her favourites.
In his private life, as in his administration, Tuan Fang has always
recognised the changing conditions of his country and endeavoured to
adapt himself to the needs of the time; he was one of the first among
the Manchus to send his sons abroad for their education. His sympathies
were at first unmistakably with K’ang Yu-wei and his fellow reformers,
but he withdrew from them because of the anti-dynastic nature of their
movement, of which he naturally disapproved.
As Acting-Governor of Shensi, in July, 1900, he clearly realised the
serious nature of the situation and the dangers that must arise from the
success of the Boxer movement, and he therefore issued two Proclamations
to the province, in which he earnestly warned the people to abstain
from acts of violence. These documents were undoubtedly the means of
saving the lives of many missionaries and other foreigners isolated in
the interior. In the first a curious passage occurs, wherein, after
denouncing the Boxers, he said:
“The creed of the Boxers is no new thing: in the reign
of Chia-Ch’ing, followers of the same cult were beheaded
in droves. But the present-day Boxer has taken the field
ostensibly for the defence of his country against the
foreigner, so that we need not refer to the past. While
accepting their good intentions, I would merely ask, is it
reasonable for us to credit these men with supernatural powers
or invulnerability? Are we to believe that all the corpses
which now strew the country between Peking and the sea are
those of spurious Boxers and that the survivors alone represent
the true faith?”
After prophesying for them the same fate which overtook the Mahomedan
rebels and those of the Taiping insurrection, he delivered himself of
advice to the people which, while calculated to prevent the slaughter of
foreigners, would preserve his reputation for patriotism. It is well, now
that Tuan Fang has fallen upon evil days, to remember the good work he
did in a very difficult position. His Proclamation ran as follows:—
“I have never for a moment doubted that you men of Shensi are
brave and patriotic and that, should occasion offer, you would
fight nobly for your country. I know that if you joined these
Boxers, it would be from patriotic motives. I would have you
observe, however, that our enemies are the foreign troops who
have invaded the Metropolitan province and not the foreign
missionaries who reside in the interior. If the Throne orders
you to take up arms in the defence of your country, then I, as
Governor of this province, will surely share in that glory. But
if, on your own account, you set forth to slay a handful of
harmless and defenceless missionaries, you will undoubtedly be
actuated by a desire for plunder, there will be nothing noble
in your deed, and your neighbours will despise you as surely as
the law will punish you.
“At this very moment our troops are pouring in upon the
capital from every province in the Empire. Heaven’s avenging
sword is pointed against the invader. This being so, it is
absurd to suppose that there can be any need for such services
as you people could render at such a time. Your obvious and
simple duty is to remain quietly in your homes, pursuing your
usual avocations. It is the business of the official to protect
the people, and you may rely upon me to do so. As to that Edict
of Their Majesties which, last year, ordered the organisation
of trained bands, the idea was merely to encourage self-defence
for local purposes, on the principle laid down by Mencius of
watch and ward being kept by each district.”
A little later the Governor referred to that Decree of the Empress
Dowager (her first attempt at hedging) which began by quoting the “Spring
and Autumn Classic” in reference to the sacred nature of foreign Envoys,
and used it as a text for emphasising the fact that the members of the
several missionary societies in Shensi had always been on the best of
terms with the people. He referred to the further fact that many refugees
from the famine-stricken districts of Shansi, and numbers of disbanded
soldiers, had crossed the borders of the province, and fearing lest
these lawless folk should organise an attack upon the foreigners, he
once more urged his people to permit no violation of the sacred laws
of hospitality. The province had already commenced to feel the effects
of the long drought which had caused such suffering in Shansi, and the
superstitious lower classes were disposed to attribute this calamity to
the wrath of Heaven, brought upon them by reason of their failure to join
the Boxers. Tuan Fang proceeded to disabuse their minds of this idea.
“If the rain has not fallen upon your barren fields,” he said,
“if the demon of drought threatens to harass you, be sure that
it is because you have gone astray, led by false rumours, and
have committed deeds of violence. Repent now and return to your
peaceful ways, and the rains will assuredly fall. Behold the
ruin which has come upon the provinces of Chihli and Shantung;
it is to save you from their fate that I now warn you. Are we
not all alike subjects of the great Manchu Dynasty, and shall
we not acquit ourselves like men in the service of the State?
If there were any chance of this province being invaded by the
enemy, you would naturally sacrifice your lives and property
to repel him, as a matter of simple patriotism. But if, in
a sudden access of madness, you set forth to butcher a few
helpless foreigners, you will in no wise benefit the Empire,
but will merely be raising fresh difficulties for the Throne.
For the time being, your own consciences will accuse you of
ignoble deeds, and later you will surely pay the penalty with
your lives and the ruin of your families. Surely, you men of
Shensi, enlightened and high-principled, will not fall so low
as this? There are, I know, among you some evil men who,
professing patriotic enmity to foreigners and Christians, wax
fat on foreign plunder. But the few missionary Chapels in this
province offer but meagre booty, and it is safe to predict
that those who begin by sacking them will certainly proceed
next to loot the houses of your wealthier citizens. From the
burning of foreigners’ homes, the conflagration will spread to
your own, and many innocent persons will share the fate of the
slaughtered Christians. The plunderers will escape with their
booty, and the foolish onlookers will pay the penalty of these
crimes. Is it not a well-known fact that every anti-Christian
outbreak invariably brings misery to the stupid innocent people
of the district concerned? Is not this a lamentable thing? As
for me, I care neither for praise nor blame; my only object in
preaching peace in Shensi is to save you, my people, from dire
ruin and destruction.”
Tuan Fang was a member of the Mission to foreign countries in 1905 and
has received decorations and honours at the hands of several European
sovereigns. In private life he is distinguished by his complete absence
of formality; a genial, hospitable man, given to good living, delighting
in new mechanical inventions and fond of his joke. It is he who, as
Viceroy of Nanking, organised the International Exhibition now being held
in that city. As Viceroy of Chihli, he was in charge of the arrangements
for the funeral of the Empress Dowager in November of last year, and a
week after that impressive ceremony was denounced for alleged want of
respect and decorum. It was charged against him that he had permitted
subordinate officials to take photographs of the _cortège_ and that
he had even dared to use certain trees in the sacred enclosure of
the Mausolea as telegraph poles, for which offences he was summarily
cashiered; since then he has lived in retirement. The charges were
possibly true, but it is matter of common knowledge that the real reason
for his disgrace was a matter of Palace politics rather than funereal
etiquette, for he was a _protégé_ of the Regent and his removal was a
triumph for the Yehonala clan, at a time when its prestige called for a
demonstration of some sort against the growing power and influence of the
Emperor Kuang-Hsü’s brothers.
FOOTNOTES
[1] As an example of unbalanced vituperation, uttered in good faith and
with the best intentions, _vide_ _The Chinese Crisis from Within_ by
“Wen Ching,” republished from the _Singapore Free Press_ in 1901 (Grant
Richards).
[2] About £120.
[3] The same euphemism was employed to describe the Court’s flight in
August 1900.
[4] Grandfather of Na T’ung, the present head of the Waiwupu.
[5] “Yi” and “Cheng” are honorific names, meaning respectively
“harmonious” and “sedate.”
[6] The expression has reference to the fact that the Empresses Regent
are supposed to be concealed from the sight of Ministers at audience by a
curtain suspended in front of the Throne.
[7] The age of the Emperor was less than six, but the solemn farce of his
alleged acts and opinions is solemnly accepted by the Chinese as part of
the eternal order of things.
[8] To allow women privily to accompany the Imperial cortège is a crime
punishable by law with the penalty of the lingering death.
[9] The Prison of the Imperial Clan Court.
[10] Poetical term for Purgatory.
[11] Hereditary titles in China usually descend in a diminishing scale.
[12] He was the father of that Marquis Tseng who, as Minister to England
(1878), lived to be credited by the British press with literary abilities
which he did not possess and liberal opinions which he did not share. His
grandsons, educated partly in England, have lately been distinguished for
that quality of patriotic Conservatism which prides itself on having no
intercourse with foreigners.
[13] A short biographical note on Tso Tsung-t’ang, the hero of the
Mahomedan rebellion who gained distinction under Tseng against the
Taipings, is given in the appendix.
[14] So called because they declined to plait the queue, as a sign that
they rejected Manchu rule.
[15] His younger brother, subsequently made an earl and Viceroy of
Nanking for many years.
[16] This is merely figurative, referring to an ancient and obsolete
custom.
[17] So named because, before becoming a eunuch at the age of sixteen, he
was apprenticed to a cobbler at his native place, Ho-Chien fu, in Chihli,
from which district most of the eunuchs come.
[18] This form of argument, under similar conditions, obtains all over
the Empire. “How could I possibly squeeze my master?” says the servant.
[19] Quotation from the Book of Changes, implying a sense of impending
danger.
[20] Chinese pamphleteers in Canton record the event with much detail,
and state that this son is alive to-day under the name of Chiu Min.
[21] A fantastic account of this mission is contained in an imaginative
work recently published (_La Vie Secrète de la Cour de Chine_, Paris,
1910), where the Chief Eunuch’s name is given as “Siao.” This curious
blunder is due to the fact that the Eunuch’s nickname, on account of his
stature, was “Hsiao An’rh” (little An), just as Li hien-Ying’s is “P’i
Hsiao” Li all over China.
[22] The Phœnix flag signified that he was sent by the Empresses Regent.
[23] The same expression is used of a novice taking the vows of Buddhist
priesthood.
[24] Tzŭ Hsi was fond of masquerading with her favourite, till well
advanced in years. One photograph of her is on sale in Peking, wherein
she is posing as the Goddess of Mercy (Kuanyin) with Li in attendance as
one of the Boddhisatvas.
[25] A term of humility.
[26] This Kuei Ching was an uncle of Tuan Fang, recently Viceroy of
Chihli, and a man generally respected.
[27] This disease is regarded amongst the Chinese as one of good omen,
especially if the symptoms develop satisfactorily.
[28] The annual and seasonal sacrifices at the ancestral Temple and at
the Imperial tombs involve “kowtowing” before each tablet of the sacred
ancestors, and this cannot be done in the presence of one of the same
generation as the last deceased, much less by him.
[29] Prince Kung was the sixth, Prince Ch’un the seventh, in order of
seniority.
[30] On the occasion to which the Memorialist refers, the lawful heir to
the Throne committed suicide. The allusion would be readily understood
(if not appreciated) by the Empress Dowager, whose irregular choice of
Kuang-Hsü and violation of the dynastic laws had certainly led to the
death of A-lu-te. Looked at from the Chinese scholar’s point of view, the
innuendo was in the nature of a direct accusation.
[31] The writer refers to the united action of the Manchu Princes and
nobles who assisted in the establishment of law and order, and the
expulsion of the Chinese rebels and Pretenders, during the troublous
time of the first Regency (1644) and the minority of the infant Emperor,
Shun-Chih.
[32] The burial place was close to, but necessarily outside, the large
enclosed park which contains the Imperial mausolea.
[33] Burial clothes should all be new and clean—by cutting away the
soles, his boots would look less shabby.
[34] I.e. by causing the Empresses to have his corpse mutilated.
[35] About £10.
[36] The point whence, according to legend, the Yellow Emperor ascended
to heaven and where his clothes were buried.
[37] A quotation from Tseng Tzu, one of the most noted disciples of
Confucius.
[38] A sort of Chinese Mr. Malaprop, known to history as one who
invariably spoke at the wrong time.
[39] It is curious to note how frequently the Imperial tombs have been
the scene of such unseemly wrangles, wherein grievances and passions,
long pent up within the Palace precincts, find utterance. A case of this
kind occurred in 1909, on the occasion of the burial of Tzŭ Hsi, when the
surviving consorts of T’ung-Chih and Kuang-Hsü, having quarrelled with
the new Empress Dowager (Lung Yü) on a similar question of precedence,
refused to return to the City and remained in dudgeon at the tombs until
a special mission, under an Imperial Duke, was sent humbly to beg them to
come back, to the no small scandal of the orthodox.
[40] This title was originally given to an infamous eunuch of the Court
of the Ming Emperor Chu Yü-hsiao, who, because of his influence over his
dissolute master, was canonised by the latter after his death. The same
title was claimed and used by the Eunuch An Te-hai, _vide supra_, page 90.
[41] See above, page 93.
[42] Tzŭ Hsi had no love for this official, for it was he who drafted
Hsien-Feng’s valedictory Decree, at the dictation of Su Shun, in 1861.
_Vide_ page 33.
[43] Sun remained in high favour until December 1894, when the Emperor
was induced by Weng T’ung-ho to dismiss him. At that time the Empress was
taking little active part in the direction of affairs, occupying her time
with theatricals and other diversions at the Summer Palace, and playing
a watching game in politics, so that for a while Sun’s life was in real
danger.
[44] Apricot yellow is a colour reserved, strictly speaking, for the use
of the Throne.
[45] In that event it would not be the Yehonala clan alone which would
benefit, as the present Emperor’s grandmother (who was one of Prince
Ch’un’s concubines) is still alive and would necessarily share in any
honours posthumously conferred on her husband, whilst Kuang-Hsü’s mother
would be excluded.
[46] The results of the Prince’s eminent services in naval and military
reorganisation were demonstrated three years later, not entirely to the
nation’s satisfaction, in the war with Japan.
[47] From a sentence in the Book of Rites, which means “to give rest and
peace to Heaven-sent old age.”
[48] Sir Walter Hillier, appointed by Yüan Shih-k’ai to be foreign
adviser to the Grand Council in 1908. When Yuan was compelled to flee
from Seoul before the advance of the Japanese, he was escorted to
Chemulpo by a guard of blue-jackets.
[49] _i.e._ the Japanese (literal translation).
[50] At present Chinese Minister in London.
[51] Now known as the Empress Dowager Lung Yü.
[52] Kang Yi was a bigoted reactionary and the arch instigator of the
Boxer movement at the capital. Young China has carefully preserved one
of his sayings of that time: “The establishment of schools and colleges
has only encouraged Chinese ambitions and developed Chinese talent to
the danger of the Manchu Dynasty: these students should therefore be
exterminated without delay.”
[53] In 1901, this official begged Tzŭ Hsi, just before her departure
from K’ai-Feng fu for Peking, not to return thither, on the ground that
her Palace had been polluted by the presence of the foreign barbarians.
[54] The Emperor prided himself on being a great stickler in such
matters, and many of the younger officials feared him on account of his
quick temper and martinet manner in dealing with them.
[55] K’ang’s subsequent escape under British protection, in which one of
the writers was instrumental, is graphically described in despatch No.
401 of Blue Book No. 1 of 1899.
[56] She was thrown down a well, by Tzŭ Hsi’s orders, as the Court
prepared for flight after the entrance of the allied forces into Peking.
(_Vide infra._)
[57] It is interesting to note that this Manchu Prince (Tsai Ch’u) was
released from prison by the present Regent, the Emperor’s brother, and
was appointed to the command of one of the Manchu Banner Corps on the
same day, in January 1909, that Yüan Shih-k’ai was dismissed from the
viceroyalty of Chihli. The Emperor’s party, as opposed to the Yehonala
Clan, heartily approved of his reinstatement.
[58] _Vide_ Blue Book China No. I. of 1899, letters Nos. 266, 401, and
426.
[59] As an example of Chinese official methods: the Shanghai Taotai
when requesting the British Consul-General’s assistance to arrest K’ang
Yu-wei, did not hesitate to say that the Emperor was dead, murdered by
the Chief Reformer. _Vide_ Blue Book No. I of 1899; letter No. 401.
[60] From _The Times_ of 31st March, 1899.
[61] Chang Yin-huan, who had been created a Knight Commander of St.
Michael and St. George in connection with Queen Victoria’s Jubilee
celebration, was subsequently put to death, after banishment to
Turkestan. An order given by Prince Tuan at the commencement of the Boxer
crisis was the immediate cause of his execution.
Another reformer named Hsü Chih-ching was condemned to imprisonment for
life in the Board of Punishments under this same Decree; he was released
by the Allies in August 1900, when he proceeded at once to T’ai-Yüan fu,
and handed himself over to justice, disdaining to accept his release
at the hands of foreigners. This incident is typical of the Chinese
officials’ attitude of mind and of their reverence for the Decrees of the
head of the State.
[62] On the occasion of her seventieth birthday (1904), the Empress
Dowager promulgated a general amnesty for all those who had taken part
in the Reform Movement of 1898, excepting only the leaders K’ang Yu-wei
and Liang Ch’i-ch’ao, who were expressly excluded from grace, and Dr. Sun
Yat-sen, who was a fugitive from justice on other counts.
[63] Li Tuan-fen returned from exile in Turkestan under the amnesty of
1904.
[64] Weng T’ung-ho has been posthumously restored to his full rank and
titles by a Decree of the present Regent. Thus is the Emperor tardily
justified and the pale ghosts of his followers continue to suffer, even
in Hades, the chances and changes of Chinese official life!
[65] This official was eventually decapitated by the allies, as one of
the originators of the Boxer rising.
[66] This Prefect of Hsüanhua was subsequently promoted by the Empress
Dowager, when passing through that city, at the beginning of the flight
from Peking.
[67] Hsü, to whom Jung Lu was writing, was a Cantonese by birth, and was
at this time Viceroy of Foochow.
[68] A note on the career and character of this courageous official is
given in the Appendix.
[69] The Decree is given at the end of this chapter.
[70] The victim was British, not French—viz., the Rev. Mr. Brooks, killed
on 31st December, 1899, just after Yu Hsien’s removal had been arranged.
[71] Between January and June the entries are of no particular interest.
[72] The Supreme Deity of the Taoists and tutelary spirit of the Boxers.
[73] A nickname of An Te-hai, _vide supra_, p. 90 _et seq._
[74] The Chancellor of the Japanese Legation, Mr. Sugiyama.
[75] This was a forgery.
[76] A quotation from the “Book of Odes.”
[77] This man’s subsequent arrest and execution are described in a
Censorate memorial at the end of this chapter.
[78] Mr. (later Sir Harry) Parkes.
[79] Professor James.
[80] Mentioned above under full name of Chi Shou-ch’eng. Chi Pin was his
“hao” or intimate personal name.
[81] Ching Shan’s house was just inside the Tung An Gate of the Imperial
City, about a quarter of a mile to the north of the present Legation area
boundary.
[82] This favourite companion of Tzŭ Hsi was really Jung Lu’s secondary
consort, who was only raised to the rank of _la première légitime_ after
his first wife’s death in September, 1900. She survived him and continued
to exercise great influence with the Old Buddha.
[83] A short biographical note on Chang Chih-tung will be found in the
Appendix.
[84] _Vide_ under June 20th.
[85] A quotation from Mencius.
[86] Quotation from Mencius.
[87] History of events under the Chou dynasty, by Confucius; one of the
Five Classics.
[88] How well and successfully she did it, has been told in Miss
Catherine A. Carl’s book, _With the Empress Dowager of China_. The
painting of her portrait for the St. Louis exhibition was in itself
an example of Tzŭ Hsi’s “cardinal virtues of government,” which she
practised with conspicuous success on the simple-minded wife of the
American Minister, Mrs. Conger. (_Vide_ Cordier, _Relations de la Chine_,
Vol. III., p. 423.)
[89] The second character of Prince Tuan’s name contained the radical
sign for _dog_, and was given him by the Emperor Hsien-Feng, because he
had been begotten during the period of mourning for his parent Tao-Kuang;
it being an offence, under Chinese law, for a son to be begotten during
the twenty-seventh months of mourning for father or mother.
[90] A classical allusion, in common use, equivalent to “Ne sutor ultra
crepidam.”
[91] A traitor whose crime and punishment are recorded in the Spring and
Autumn Annals.
[92] A classical expression, meaning the Spirit-world.
[93] Referring to his part in the _coup d’état_ of 1898.
[94] The expression is figurative.
[95] A species of owl—classical reference.
[96] Consort of Kuang-Hsü, now Empress Dowager, known by the honorific
title of Lung-yü.
[97] Prince Ch’un subsequently married Jung Lu’s daughter, by special
command of the Empress Dowager.
[98] This Memorial was never published officially, and Tzŭ Hsi refrained
from issuing a Rescript thereto; it was forwarded by an official with
the Court at Hsi-an to one of the vernacular papers at Shanghai, which
published it.
[99] A lane four hundred yards north of the glacis which now surrounds
the Legation quarter.
[100] Quotation from Confucius.
[101] Tzŭ Hsi was addicted to gentle sarcasm of this kind in Decrees.
[102] Admiral Seymour’s expedition.
[103] See Dr. Smith’s “China in Convulsion,” page 361.
[104] The North Gate of the Imperial City.
[105] At that time Governor-designate of Shensi. He had come north with
troops to defend the capital.
[106] Tutor of the Heir Apparent, father-in-law of the Emperor
T’ung-Chih, his daughter, the Empress Chia-Shun (A-lu-te), had committed
suicide in 1875 (_vide supra_).
[107] An allusion to Kuang-Hsü’s order for Jung Lu’s summary execution in
September 1898.
[108] See biographical note, _infra_ (Appendix).
[109] Deceased, 26th August 1910.
[110] As he had done for Tzŭ Hsi’s son, the Emperor T’ung-Chih.
[111] Amongst Chinese officials no characteristic is more common than
their jealousy of each other and their promiscuous habit of backbiting
and slandering.
[112] It was because of Tung Fu-hsiang’s great popularity in Kansu that
Her Majesty, fearing another rebellion, hesitated to order his execution.
[113] This sentence is equivalent to imprisonment for life.
[114] See Ching Shan’s Diary, page 258; also cf. page 324.
[115] The Empress Dowager was from the outset most anxious to screen
and protect this official, for whom she had a great personal regard. On
reviewing his case in the light of later information and current public
opinion, it would appear that most of his actions were instigated, if not
ordered, by Kang Yi, and that the decision of the foreign Ministers to
insist upon his death was taken without any very definite information as
to his share of guilt.
[116] In accordance with prescribed custom.
[117] He was directly descended from Nurhachu, the conqueror of the Mings.
[118] This was no empty boast. Yü Hsien, cold-blooded fanatic that he
was, bore a most honourable name for absolute integrity and contempt for
wealth. He died in poverty, so miserable, that amongst all his clothes
there was not one suit new enough to be fittingly used for his burial
robes. His name is still held in high honour by the people of Shansi,
who sing the praises of his Governorship, and who claim that his proud
spirit it was which protected their Province from being invaded by the
foreigners. They erected a shrine to his memory, but it was demolished to
appease the foreign Powers.
[119] The Chinese rendering of a German name.
[120] This is the Chinese date; the day of the audience was the 4th
September.
[121] Wen T’i had been a censor in 1898, but was cashiered by the Emperor
for being reactionary. Tzŭ Hsi restored him to favour after the _coup
d’état_.
[122] Precisely the same quotation was used by Ch’ung Hou in a despatch
to the British Minister (Mr. Wade) in 1861, under somewhat similar
circumstances. Since that date the most frequent criticism of foreign
observers on the subject has been “_plus ça change, plus c’est la même
chose_.”
[123] The literal translation of the Chinese is, “She has eaten her meal
at sunset, and worn her clothes throughout the night.”
[124] Ginseng, the specific remedy of the Chinese pharmacopœia for
debility, supposed to possess certain magical qualities when grown
in shapes resembling the human form or parts thereof. The best kind,
supplied as tribute to the Throne, grows wild in Manchuria and Corea.
[125] This house-law was made by the Emperor Ch’ien Lung to prevent his
Court officials from intriguing for the favour of the Heir Apparent.
[126] The chief eunuch in reality objected to the Buddhist pontiff on
his own account, for the Lama’s exactions from the superstitious would
naturally diminish his own opportunities.
[127] He had succeeded Jung Lu as custodian of the mausolea.
[128] The Imperial Mausoleum lies about ninety miles to the east of
Peking, covering a vast enclosure of magnificent approach and decorated
with splendid specimens of the best style of Chinese architecture. It
consists of four palaces, rising one behind the other, and at the back
of the fourth and highest stands the huge mound classically termed the
“Jewelled Citadel,” under which lies the spacious grave chamber.
[129] _Vide_ Biographical Note in the Appendix.
[130] 2nd January, 1909.
[131] _Vide_ the Diary of Ching Shan, page 259.
[132] Grant Richards, 1901.
[133] Two patriarchial rulers of China (B.C. _circa_ 2300) whose wise
principles of government were immortalised by Confucius.
[134] _With the Empress Dowager of China_ (Eveleigh Nash, 1906).
[135] Since the days of the Emperor Ch’ien-Lung, these expenses have
averaged some forty millions of taels per annum. _Vide_ “_The Times_,”
special article, 7th Dec., 1909.
[136] The nucleus of this hoard was the money confiscated from the
usurping Regent Su Shun in 1861.
[137] An account of his life was given in a memoir published by _The
Times_ on the 6th October, 1909.
[138] _Vide supra_, Chapter I., page 12.
[139] It has remained thus in many districts until now, vast solitudes
of ruins being the chief characteristic of a region that, before the
rebellion, supported some thirty million inhabitants.
[140] Subsequently Governor of Formosa.
INDEX
Actors, Palace, 86, 87, 492
Admiralty, _vide_ Navy
Adviser to the Government, _vide_ Prince Kung; also Prince Ch’un
Adviser to the Regency, _vide_ Prince Ch’un
Aisin Gioros, 4, 6, 167
A-Lu-Te, Empress, 118-132-162
suicide of, 129, 350
Ancestor worship, 134, 328, 473-4
Ancestral shrines, 167
Ancestral tablet, 470, 473-4
Annals of dynasty, _vide_ Dynastic
Annam, 505
Anti-foreign movement, 230, 305, 334, 336;
also _vide_ Boxer movement
An Wei-chun, 171
Astrologers, 387, 471, 485-6
Audiences, procedure at, 58, 75, 77, 103, 111, 113, 188, 408, 412, 452
Banishment, _vide_ Post-roads
Baron von Ketteler, 271, 273, 278, 288, 305, 316, 330, 332, 384
“Benign Countenance,” 53
Berlin, mission to, 383-386
Big Sword Society, 255
Birthday celebrations, 168, 450-1
Black List, 1900, 104
Blood brotherhood, 206, 361
Board of Punishments, 227
Board of Rites, 190, 192, 197, 207
Bombardment of Peking, 297, 344
Book of Odes, quoted, 265
Boxer chiefs, 281, 323, 331, 363, 369-374
Boxer movement, 82, 100, 180, 195, 228, 243, 246-250, 260 to 303,
311-12, 364, 440, 512
British Minister, 215, 228, 241, 503
British Policy, 214-5, 339
Brooks, Revd., 255
Bruce, Sir F., 24
Burial Ceremonies, 17, 19, 61-2, 136, 149, 465, 470, 475
Burning of Legations, 263, 364
Burying Alive, 147, 472
Caligraphy, Edict _re_, 195
Cantonese, lampooners, 84, 225, 491
reformers, 100, 185, 219, 220, 225, 418
Capture of Peking, 1860, 17 _et seq._
Carl, Miss, 290, 492
Censorate, 86, 88, 122, 147, 163, 172, 195, 305, 488, 492, 494, 501,
512
and eunuchs, 82, 109
Chang Chih-tung, 140, 220, 278, 353, 398, 429, 483, 501-6
Chang Yin-huan, 173, 185, 202, 220-1, 228
Chao, Duke, 6
Chao Erh-hsün, 159
Chao Kuang-yin, Emperor, 133
Chao Shu-ch’iao, 256, 258, 269, 298, 324, 357, 364, 366-9, 370
Cheng, Prince, _vide_ Tuan Hua
Ch’en Lien-fang, Dr., 216-19
Ch’en Pao-chen, 186, 196
Ch’en Tu-en, 53
Chia Ch’ing, Emperor, 247
Chia Hsun, Empress, _vide_ A-Lu-Te
Chief Eunuch, _vide_ Eunuchs
Ch’ien Lung, Emperor, 45, 83, 149, 164, 350, 442, 445
Ch’i Hsiu, 260-1, 264-5, 295, 314, 324, 367, 374
Chi Lu, Chamberlain, 361, 402, 415
China’s Foreign Policy, 338
Chinese Resident in Corea, 171, 201
Ching Hsin, 252
Ch’ing, Prince, 99, 104, 256, 259, 271, 278, 334, 342, 372, 374, 384,
438, 447, 450, 456, 473
Ching Shan, 224, 251-303, 327, 413, 478
death of, 251
Ching Yüan-shan, 219
Chi Shou-ch’eng, 255-6, 260, 272, 286, 291
Ch’i Ying, Envoy, 12, 502
Chou Dynasty, 315
Chou Tsu-p’ei, 41
Christianity, 105, 248, 260, 268, 313, 336, 392, 461, 505
Christians massacred, 282, 286, 292, 331, 415
Chuang, Prince, 270, 273, 282, 286, 357, 365, 370
Chu Hung-teng, 311
Ch’ung Ch’i, 118, 350, 351
Ch’ung Hou, 419, 501-2
Chung Li, 257
Ch’un, House of, 5, 158, 164, 446
Ch’un, Prince (brother of Kuang Hsü), 5, 302, 383, 444, 446, 451,
458, 462
Ch’un, Prince (the first), 5, 99, 121-2, 125, 130, 143, 158-65, 167,
446
adviser to Grand Council, 160
death of, 166
Clan Imperial, _vide_ Imperial
Classical essays, _vide_ Examinations
Coast Defences, 100, 328
“Cobbler’s Wax” Li, _vide_ Li Lien-ying
“Cold Palace,” 32, 149
Colleges, 194, 196, 205, 222, 429, 461, 493
Concubines, Palace, 9, 107, 162, 209, 225, 231, 300, 408, 429 (also
_vide_ under “Pearl” and “Lustrous”)
Conferences, Palace, 125-6, 297, 457
Confucian system, 64, 136, 213, 226-7, 236, 245, 307, 328, 363, 488,
512
Confucius, 83, 469, 484-5
quoted, 113, 260, 288, 302, 319, 420
Conger, Mrs., 290, 488
Conservative Party, 194, 197, 201-10, 221, 229, 235
Conspiracy of Regents, _vide_ Tsai Yuan
Constitutional Government, 106, 221, 425, 431, 438, 441, 450, 461,
468, 498
Consular Service, British, 339
Corea, 168, 170, 201, 390
Council, Grand, _vide_ Grand
_Coup d’état_, 169 _et seq._, 201-210, 213, 438, 451, 505, 511
Court Ceremonies, 58, 75, 130, 153, 168, 178, 206, 208, 212, 218,
355, 412, 450, 462, 492
Court in exile, 97, 344
Court of Astronomers, 34, 117, 493
Court physicians, 217-8, 448, 457
Court’s return to Peking, 353, 357, 394, 399, 404-11, 486
Criminal Code, 431
Czar’s Coronation, 182
Dalai Lama, 448, 452, 454-5
Decrees:—
1860: 24, 26, 27, 28, 29
1861: 34, 42, 44, 45, 46, 54, 60
1864: 67, 86
1865: 60, 62
1866: 89
1869: 92, 93
1872: (T’ung Chih’s majority), 117
1873: (Foreign Ministers’ audiences), 115
1874: (T’ung Chih’s illness), 120
1884: (Dismissal of Prince Kung), 154
1889: (Position of Emperor’s father), 164
1894: (Tzŭ Hsi’s 60th birthday), 168
(_Re_ Censor An Wei-chun), 175
1898: (Death of Prince Kung), 183
(Chinese _versus_ Manchus), 231
(Coup d’état), 207, 221
(K’ang Yu-wei), 204, 226
(Reform Edicts), 186-7, 196-7, 199
(_Re_ lawsuits), 240
(The Boxers charter), 241, 243
(Tzŭ Hsi’s policy), 237
(Weng T’ung-ho), 188
(Yüan Shih-k’ai), 203
1900: (Heir Apparent), 303
(Boxers Punished), 364, 367
(Disowning Boxers), 331
(Expiatory), 349
(Flight to Hsi-an), 354
(Return to Peking), 357
(Yangtsze Viceroys), 330
1901: (Conversion to Reform), 419-424, 426
(Cancels Boxer Edicts), 375
(Penitential), 376
1902: (_Re_ Jung Lu), 414
(Reforms), 416
1903: (Death of Jung Lu), 437
1905: (Constitutional Government), 431-2
1908: (Death of Kuang Hsü), 460
(Imperial Succession), 462
(Regency), 465
(Tzŭ Hsi’s Valedictory), 467-9
(Valedictory), 461
Déthève, Dr., 217
Diplomatic Body, 241, 265, 335, 401, 412-3, 452, 495
ladies of, 214, 241, 290, 412, 434, 495
District magistrates, 199, 205, 235, 240, 243, 441
“Divine Mother,” 240
Du Chaylard, 268
Dynastic annals, 338, 437, 477
Edicts, _vide_ Decrees
Educational Reform, 430, 505
Elephant, Tzŭ Hsi’s, 454
Elgin, Lord, 12, 24-5
Emperor of Japan, telegram to, 333, 335, 337
Emperor of Russia, telegram to, 333, 335
Emperor’s education, 87, 107, 127, 233
Empress Consort (Tzŭ An), _vide_ Tzŭ An
Empress Dowager, _vide_ Tzŭ Hsi, and Yehonala
Empress Dowager, widow of Kuang Hsü (Lung Yü), 4, 301, 447, 464-5
Empress Grand Dowager (Tzŭ Hsi), 464
Empress Mother, 35, 150, 177
Empress of Kuang Hsü, 163, 177, 209, 301, 346, 447
Empress of the East, _vide_ Tzŭ An
Empress of the West, _vide_ Tzŭ Hsi
En Hai, 271, 288, 305
En Ming, En Ch’u, En Ch’un, En Lin, sons of Ching Shan, 251-303
Etiquette, _vide_ Audiences, Ceremonies, Court, &c.
Eunuchs, place of origin, 85
all Manchus, 429
Chief Eunuch An Te-hai, 38, 63, 85, 88, 90 _et seq._, 122, 154, 259
Li Lien-ying, 82, 84-5, 94-5, 97-8, 208, 267, 300, 453, 472
and Dalai Lama, 448
and Pearl Concubine, 300
and the Navy funds, 169, 196
at Hsi-an, 355, 360
collecting tribute, 402
corrupt practices of, 353, 495
denounced by Censor, 174
during flight of Court, 341
hostility to Emperor of, 100, 179, 199
in disgrace, 102
power of, 103, 151, 162, 360, 435
supports Boxers, 258, 263, 279
Wei Chung, 83
Decree against, 89
duties at audiences, 85
Eunuch Sun, 184, 356
evil influences of, 81 _et seq._, 119, 494
Memorial denouncing, 107
under K’ang Hsi, 83
under Ming dynasty, 81, 152, 466
European morals, &c., 111, 268
Ever-victorious army, 66
Examinations, system of, 180, 187, 190, 192, 235-6, 429, 484
Extra-territoriality, 430
Flight of Court (1860), 18, 27
(1900), 300, 302, 340-62
Foot-binding, Edict _re_, 428
Foreign Office, _vide_ Waiwupu and Tsungli Yamên
French Cathedral, Peking, destroyed, 276, 293
Funeral of Hsien-Feng, 38, 61
Jung Lu, 437
Tzŭ Hsi, 465, 470-5, 515
T’ung Chih, 501
Gendarmerie, Peking, 150, 276
German Emperor, 384
German Minister, _vide_ Baron von Ketteler
Giers, de, Mr., 336
Ginseng, 441
Goddess of Mercy, Tzŭ Hsi as, 455
Gordon, General, 11, 66, 67, 73
Government Gazette, _vide_ Official
Grand Council, 44, 159, 266, 275, 297, 464
Gros, Baron, 25
Han dynasty, 52, 391
Hanlin academy, 282, 293, 483
Hanlin diarist (1860), 14 _et seq._
Hart, Sir R., 510
“Heavenly King,” _vide_ Hung Hsiu-ch’uan
Heir Apparent, 253, 255, 257, 274-8, 281, 289, 303-4, 349, 358-9,
360, 381, 451, 457, 511
deposed, 382
Hereditary rank, 56
Hillier, Sir W., 171
Hills, Eastern, 471
Honan fu, Court at, 399
Honorific titles, Tzŭ Hsi’s, 55, 469, 490
Household, Imperial, _vide_ Imperial
House laws, dynastic, 90, 119, 122, 128, 133, 143, 159, 174, 381,
444, 462
Hsi-an, Court at, 101, 108, 354-5, 358, 492, 496
Hsien-Feng, Emperor, 2, 8, 11, 467
at Jehol, 23, 24, 30
burial, 61, 472
death of, 35, 85
eunuchs under, 85
heir born to, 12
tomb of, 149
Hsüan-hua fu, Court at, 342, 346
Prefect of, 247
Hsüan-T’ung, Emperor, 444, 459, 462
Hsü Ching-ch’eng, 269, 281, 291-2, 294, 307-26, 377
Hsü Shih-ch’ang, 6-7
Hsü Shih-ch’ing, 221
Hsü T’ung, 180-1, 253, 257, 263, 270, 302, 324, 366, 511
Hsü Ying-ku’ei, 190, 197, 202, 207, 232, 246
Hsü Yung-yi, 296
Huai-lai, Court at, 340-3
Huai Ta Pu, 194, 197, 202, 207
Hui Chang, 230
Hui Cheng (Tzŭ Hsi’s father), 2
Hundred Days, the, 213
Hung Hsiu-ch’uan, 67, 69, 71-3
“I-cheng-wang,” 56, 60
I-Ho Yüan, _vide_ Summer Palace
Ili, Russians at, 112, 181, 501-3
Imperial Clan Court, 32, 44, 48, 213
Imperial Clans, 122, 187, 267, 325, 326, 418, 425, 447, 481
Imperial Clansmen, 40, 47, 54, 60, 91, 123, 158, 212, 326, 429
Imperial Commissioner, 370
Imperial Decrees, _vide_ Decrees
Imperial Guards, 38
Imperial Household, tribute to, 86, 97, 99, 104, 359, 361
accounts of, 87, 103, 495
Comptrollers of, 87-8, 121, 151, 251, 259, 457
eunuchs in, 81 _et seq._
Imperial Succession, _vide_ Succession
Imperial Tombs, _vide_ Tombs
Incantations of Boxers, 279, 315
Inspector General of Customs, 170, 510
Intermarriage, Chinese and Manchus, 428, 491
International jealousies, 333, 392
Iron-capped princes, 2, 6, 182
Ito, Prince, 391, 438
Jade, Emperor, 258, 270
Jadot, Monsieur, 407, 410-11
James, Professor, 272
Japan, war with, _vide_ Wars
Jehol, Court at, 14 _et seq._, 27, 439, 484
Imperial Treasures at, 301
Su Shun’s Palace at, 45
Tsai Yüan conspiracy at, 30-40
Judicial reform, 430, 461
Jung Lu, 121, 124
and Eunuch An Te-hai, 85, 104
and Legations, 224, 266, 285
and Reformers, 221, 223, 231, 440
and Tsai Yüan Conspiracy, 32, 37, 40
and Weng T’ung-ho, 181
at T’ai-Yüan fu, 350, 352
audience with Kuang Hsü, 185
commander-in-chief, 222, 302, 352
death of, 415
his corrupt practices, 352
his daughter, 302, 447, 458
his wives, 274, 352, 458, 493
illness of, 404
in disgrace, 150-1
intimacy with Yehonala, 8, 225
opposes Boxers, 195, 224, 246, 260, 266, 440
relations with Emperor, 295, 352
with foreigners, 334, 413
restored, 168
Tartar General, Hsi-an, 103, 168, 440
telegram to Yangtsze Viceroys, 277
Tzŭ Hsi’s adviser, 224, 246, 297, 354, 387, 413
valedictory memorial, 438-442
Viceroy of Chihli, 188, 440
withholds artillery from Boxers, 284, 291
Kai-Feng, Court at, 104
K’ang-Hsi, Emperor, 37, 48, 74, 146, 190, 268, 346
Kang Yi, 178, 195, 241, 256-300, 354, 365
K’ang Yu-wei, 2, 8, 84, 184
character of, 192
flight from Peking, 204
plot against Tzŭ Hsi, 198, 225, 244, 293, 421, 440, 445, 511
Kansuh soldiery, 251, 262, 271, 276, 316, 360, 509
Kashgar, fall of, 509
Kauffmann, General, 508
Ketteler, _vide_ Baron von
Kiaochao Bay, seizure of, 193, 390
Ko Pao-hua, 365, 370
Kotow, 111
“Kow-hsing,” s.s., 171
Kuang Hsü, Emperor, minority of, 51, 128, 149
and eunuchs, 82, 85, 110
a prisoner, 207, 211
assumes government, 161, 439
at Hsi-an fu, 358
character of, 105, 143
death of, 128, 443, 460
education of, 127, 152
elected by Tzŭ Hsi, 126, 129, 439
foreign sympathy for, 241
funeral of, 471, 473
his brothers, 386, 515
his concubines, 163
his consort, 163, 177, 209, 301, 346
his disposition, 179, 358, 415
his mother, 166
majority of, 164
marriage of, 161
opposed to Boxers, 269
personal appearance of, 218, 359
physical defects, 128
plots against Tzŭ Hsi, 198, 202
relations with Chang Chih-tung, 278
Heir Apparent, 281
Jung Lu, 352
Pearl Concubine, 300
Reformers, 181, 424
proposed deposition of, 252, 257, 274
relations with Tzŭ Hsi, 176, 438, 449
sickness of, 216, 383, 443-4, 448, 459
succession to, 462
Kuanshih, Court at, 340
Kuan Wen, 68
Kuei Ching, 119, 121
Kuei Hsiang, Duke, 6, 161, 209, 415
Kuei Liang, 24-5, 41
Kuei Pao, 120
Kung, Duke, 357
Kung, Prince (candidate for Throne, 1908), 5, 458
Kung, Prince (son of Tao-Kuang), 20, 126, 178
Adviser to the Government, 56, 154
assists Yehonala against Tsai Yuan, 33 _et seq._
at Jehol, 32
death of, 183
degraded, 59, 155
his daughter, Princess Imperial, 56, 95
in retirement, 157
plenipotentiary, 27-29
quarrels with Tzŭ Hsi, 95, 149, 488
re-instated, 61, 63
K’un Ming Lake, 178, 204
Lake Palace, 206
Lan-chou fu, 372, 396, 509
Lan, Duke, _vide_ Tsai Lan
Lawsuits, edict _re_, 239
Legation Guards, 256, 313, 332
Legations at Peking, 110, 214, 263, 271 _et seq._, 298, 433
Liang Ch’i-ch’ao, 196, 208, 327, 505
Liao Shou-heng, 178, 185
Li Ching-fang, 173
Lien Yuan, 296
Li Hsiu-ch’eng, 69, 71-73
Li Hung-chang, 76-7, 99, 100, 123, 170, 172, 176, 192, 201, 239,
336, 384, 387-9, 434, 501, 505
death of, 399
Li Hung-tsao, 156, 180, 193
Li Lien-ying, _vide_ Eunuchs
Lin Hsü, Reformer, 202, 205
Li Ping-heng, 102, 246, 286, 292, 293-4, 297, 343, 348, 366, 505
Li, Prince, 157, 178, 262, 271, 275, 292
Li Shan, 269, 285, 296
Literati, 213, 235, 398, 418, 425, 492, 502
Li Tuan-fen, 202, 228-9
Liu Kuang-ti, 202
Liu K’un-yi, Viceroy, 220, 233, 274-5, 279, 327, 334, 395
Li Wan-ts’ai, 69
Lu Ch’uan-lin, 354, 358-9, 458
Lü, Empress, 52
Lü Hai-huan, 385
Lung Yü, Empress, 150, 177, 301, 464-5
“Lustrous” Concubine, 163, 408, 452
Magic arts of Boxers, 247, 261, 279
Mahomedan rebellion, 74, 117, 321, 503, 507-509
Ma Hsin-yi, 78
Manchu Field Force, 131, 167, 305
Clansmen, 4, 268
soldiery, 182, 228, 271
Manchurian provinces, 170, 176, 396, 490, 503, 507
Manchus _versus_ Chinese, 166, 230, 270, 421, 427, 477
Masquerades, _vide_ Palace Theatricals
Mausolea, _vide_ Tombs
Ma Yu-k’un, General, 302, 343
Memorials:—
An Wei-chun, 172
Censorate, 271
Hsü Ying-ku’ei, 192
Hui Chang, 230
Jung Lu, 350, 436, 438-42
Li Hung-chang, 389
Li Tuan-fen, 229
Prince Ch’un, 165, 384
_Re_ Eunuchs, 86, 88, 107
Southern Viceroys, 394-5
Tseng Quo-fan, 72, 74
Wu K’o-tu, 110 _et seq._, 142-7
Yüan Ch’ang and Hsü Ching-ch’eng, 292-3, 307-26
Yü Lu, Viceroy, 264
Mencius, quoted, 111, 163, 187, 273, 284, 287-8, 514
Military reorganisation, 194, 228, 386
Ming dynasty, 144, 186, 246, 253, 312, 428, 431, 466
Mining Bureau, Peking, 196
Ministers, foreign, _vide_ Diplomatic Body
Missionaries, 78, 241, 255, 287, 292, 318, 329, 415, 505, 513
Mission to Berlin, 383-386
abroad (1905), 431
Morrison, Dr., _vide_ “Times”
Muyanga, 2, 9
Nanking re-captured, 48, 66 _et seq._
Na T’ung, 31, 264-5, 285, 296
Navy funds, 98
naval reorganisation, 163, 167, 196, 386, 503
Ning Shou Palace, 301, 403, 496
Niuhulu, 7, 10
North and South factions, 180 _et seq._
Nurhachu, 1, 4, 5, 371, 429
“Ocean Terrace,” 207, 455, 460
Official Gazettes, 196, 204, 222
Old Buddha, _vide_ Tzŭ Hsi, also Yehonala
Opium smoking (Tzŭ Hsi), 411, 496, 504
abolition of, 430, 497, 509
Palace eunuchs, _vide_ Eunuchs
orgies, 90, 120
politics, 4, 184, 231, 353
Theatricals, 87, 88, 256, 356, 400, 454-5
Palace harem, 9, 162, 408, 429
P’an Tsu-yin, 180
Pao-Ting Fu, Court at, 405
Pao Yun, 147, 156
Parkes (Sir), Harry, 16, 21, 271
Peace negotiations, 342, 356, 381, 400
Peace protocol, 357, 364, 376, 383, 398, 401, 478
Pearl Concubine, 163, 209, 300, 403
Peking, capture of (1860), 14, 22
bombardment (1900), 297
Peking University, 187, 194
P’eng Yu-lin, 68
Penitential Decree, 376
Mission, 384-6
Phœnix flag, 92
“P’i Hsiao,” Li, _vide_ Li Lien-ying (under eunuchs)
Plot against Tzŭ Hsi, 225
Po Ch’un, 31
Police, Peking, 6, 512
Port Arthur, 99
Portrait of Tzŭ Hsi, 290, 483
Portsmouth Treaty, 506
Post-roads, banishment to, 176, 209, 228
Press Bureau, Shanghai, 204, 511
Press, native, 109, 196, 229, 433, 477, 491
foreign, 433, 448
Princess Imperial, 178, 262, 493
Privy Purse, 40, 45, 98, 162, 353, 355, 495
P’u Chün, _vide_ Heir Apparent
P’u Lun, Prince, 5, 122-3, 125, 300, 342, 446-7, 458-9
P’u T’ung, Prince, 361
P’u Yi (Emperor Hsuan T’ung), 444, 459, 462
Railway journey, Court’s, 401, 404-11, 414
Reactionaries, _vide_ Conservatives
Rebellion, _vide_ Taiping, Mahomedan, &c.
Red Girdles, _vide_ Aisin Gioros
Reform Decrees, 185-200
Repeal of, 209, 222
Reform Movement, 108, 169, 190-215, 220, 230, 418, 424, 430, 441, 469
Regency, Joint of Empresses Dowager, 4, 44, 51 _et seq._, 65, 94,
117, 118, 121, 127, 468
Regency of Tsai Yuan, 30 _et seq._, 42, 439
Regency of Tzŭ Hsi, 148 _et seq._, 180
Regent, Prince Ch’un (1908), 5, 447, 458-9, 462, 473
Relief of Legations, 298, 334
Republic, Chinese, 245
Revolutionary Movement, 194, 227, 237, 245, 249, 457
Rewards for killing Europeans, 100, 271, 276, 281, 285, 331, 365
Russian Policy, 23, 82, 171, 176, 181, 336, 396, 434, 502-3
Russians at Ili, 112, 181, 501-3
Sakota, 9, 61
Schools, _vide_ Colleges
Scrolls, honorific, &c., 372-3, 451, 506
Seal, Imperial, 33, 35, 40, 42
Seng-Ko-Lin Ch’in, Prince, 15, 20, 21, 25, 28
Seymour, Admiral, 332
Shansi, Court in, 346
Yu Hsien, Governor of, 373
Shao Yu-lien, 173
Shen Chin, Reformer, 490
Sheng Hsüan-huai, 407
Sheng Pao, General, 20, 391, 484
Shensi, famine in, 105, 416
Rebellion in, 117
Shih Hsü, 458
Shimonoseki Treaty, 391
Shun-Chih, Emperor, 37, 83, 133, 146
Siege of Nanking, 68-9, 71
Su-Chou fu, 507
Silkworms, God of, 206
Small-pox, 120
Southern provinces and Reform, 169, 185, 219, 229, 253, 418, 490
Southern Viceroys, 277, 329, 359, 394-5, 506
“Spring and Autumn” Classic, 288, 318, 514
Squeezing by officials, 495, 510
Students, 178, 430, 457
Succession, Imperial, 5, 115, 119, 122, 128, 129, 132, 134, 141, 304,
381, 444, 462, 487
Sugiyama, 262
Suicide, patriotic, 134
Summer Palace, burnt by Allies, 20, 42, 389
rebuilding of, 99, 128, 168, 356, 493
Tzŭ Hsi’s life at, 198, 301, 451
Sun Chia-nai, 253, 358, 510-12
Sung Ch’ing, General, 350
Sung dynasty, 133, 143, 190, 236, 391
Sung, Eunuch, 300
Sung Po-lu, Censor, 190, 195, 208
Sung Yu-lien, 204
Sun Yat-sen, Dr., 227
Sun Yu-wen, 157
Su Shun, usurping Regent, 30 _et seq._, 48, 156, 496
Ta-A-Ko, _vide_ Heir Apparent
Ta Chi, Concubine, 225
Taiping rebellion, 11, 37, 48, 64-80, 276, 321, 467, 485, 492, 513
Tai-Tsung, Empress, 37
T’ai-Yüan fu, Court at, 348, 496
Taku Forts, 264, 323, 327, 333
T’an Chung-lin, Viceroy, 245
T’ang dynasty, 141, 216, 347
Tang Shao-yi, 82, 496
T’an Su-t’ung, Reformer, 202, 245
T’an Ting-hsiang, Viceroy, 24
Tao-Kuang, Emperor, 8, 122, 184, 251, 291, 458
his widow, 11
T’ao Mo, Viceroy, 107-8
Taxation, system of, 441
Temple of Heaven, 445
“The Chinese Crisis from Within,” 2, 477
Tientsin, fighting at, 282, 289, 290, 325
Tientsin massacre, 76-7
Tien Ts’ung, Emperor, 1
_Times_ correspondent, Peking, 82, 446, 488
_Times_, The, quoted, 216, 219, 389, 404-11, 471-75, 495, 501
Ting, Admiral, 99
Ting Pao-chen, 91-3
T’ing Yung, 247
Tombs, Imperial, 150, 471, 473, 487
Hsien-Feng’s, 61, 149
T’ung-Chih’s, 136
Tzŭ Hsi’s, 456
Tongking, 154, 166
Train-bands, 242-3, 248, 253
Transvaal war, 289
Treasure in Palace, 301, 347, 403
Treaties, Commercial, 111, 383
Treaty of Livadia, 502-3
of Portsmouth, 506
of Shimonoseki, 391
of Tientsin, 23, 114
Trial of Reformers, 220
Tribute, provincial, 97, 104, 359, 361, 398, 402, 452, 496
Troops, Chihli, 75, 78, 182, 197
Tsai Ch’u, Prince, 213
Tsai Feng, _vide_ Prince Ch’un
Tsai Lan, Duke, 100, 251-2, 261-3, 270, 272, 292, 294, 360, 364
Tsai Lien, “Beileh,” 252, 282
Tsai Tsê, Duke, 431
Tsai Tun, Duke, 49
Tsai Ying, “Beileh,” 252, 282
Tsai Yüan, Prince, 21, 27, 30
Chief Regent, 36
conspiracy of, 3, 30 _et seq._, 212, 492
death of, 47
Ts’en Ch’un-hsüan, 101, 347-8, 355, 359, 360, 370
Tseng Kuo-ch’uan, 68
Tseng Kuo-fan, Viceroy, 11, 28, 37, 64, 80, 223, 483, 492, 502, 507
Tseng, Marquis, 64, 79, 99
Tseng Tzu, 146
Tso Tsung-t’ang, 64, 138, 140, 483, 503, 507-510
Tsungli Yamên, 42, 60, 190, 278, 334
Tuan Fang, 4, 119, 287, 454, 465, 512, 515
Tuan Hua, Prince, 21, 30 _et seq._, 49, 439
Tuan, Prince (Boxer), 100, 224, 251-303, 364
his wife, 343
in banishment, 365
relations with Tzŭ Hsi, 273, 283, 291, 343
son of, Heir Apparent, 253, 303-4
Tu Mu, 146
T’ung-Chih, Emperor, 35, 52, 54, 84, 115, 119, 467, 487
death of, 121, 439
funeral and burial of, 135, 138
marries A-Lu-Te, 118, 494
succession to, 130, 303, 382, 458, 461-2, 487
unborn heir of, 122
Tung Fu-hsiang, General, 261-2, 272, 281, 284-5, 288, 316, 323, 350,
362, 366, 509
T’ung Wen College, 493
T’ung Yŭan-ch’un, Censor, 38, 43
Tun, Prince, 2, 131, 251
Turkestan, 221, 229, 365, 502
Tzŭ An (Empress Dowager, of the East), 35, 55, 75, 92, 94, 118,
121, 148-9
and A-Lu-Te, 121
and Prince Kung, 93
Co-Regent with Tzŭ Hsi, 44, 475
death of, 152
tomb of, 472, 487
valedictory decree, 152
Tzŭ Hsi, Empress Dowager, (_see also_ Yehonala)
appoints Kuang Hsü’s successor, 252, 257, 382
burial and tomb of, 150, 470-5, 515
charm of manner, 215, 478, 497
compared with Napoleon, 486
compared with Queen Elizabeth, 160, 166, 481, 498
contemplates suicide, 297
courage, 285, 487, 488
death of, 464-7, 498
despotic nature, 57, 184
diet and habits, 356, 411, 496
Empress Dowager and Co-Regent, 35, 44, 51 _et seq._
extravagance, 189, 198, 228, 494
feminine vanity, 496
fits of rage, 94, 259, 265, 281, 289, 294, 300, 480, 489, 497
flies from Peking, 296-7, 340 _et seq._
fond of painting, 259, 285
gentleness, 53, 239, 259, 480
her eunuchs, 81 _et seq._, 90, 95-6, 198, 267, 289, 300
her favourites, 91, 96, 102, 293, 364, 483
her private fortune, 81, 301, 495
her Privy Purse, 40, 45, 98, 162, 301, 398, 434
her sisters, 11, 123, 126, 179
impartiality, 231, 484
inconsistency, 257
indecision, 260, 328, 387
in retirement, 161
kindness of heart, 282, 286, 358, 478, 481, 489
last words, 466
life at summer palace, 157, 161-2, 198, 288
love of literature, 492-3
love of theatre, 88, 91, 256, 259, 356, 400, 454-5, 492
names and titles of, 13, 55, 469, 490
opium smoking, 411, 496
parentage, childhood and education, 2, 7, 8-9
penitent, 337, 383, 389, 392, 416-7, 445
personal appearance, 359
policy towards Manchus, 231
political activity, 239, 244
prestige of 469, 488
profligacy of Court, 84, 189, 203, 225, 244, 481
quarrels with Co-Regent, 94, 148-9
rebukes the Censors, 166
receives wives of foreign Ministers, 214, 290, 401, 412, 434, 495
reform policy, 375, 389, 394, 416, 420, 425
relations with Boxers, 250-300, 358, 364, 419
relations with Jung Lu, _vide_ Jung Lu
relations with Kuang Hsü, 176, 438, 449
relations with Legations, 291, 328, 401
relations with Prince Kung, 57 _et seq._, 91 _et seq._
relations with Prince Tuan, 278, 283, 291, 328, 343
seventieth birthday, 227
sickness of, 443, 455-6
sixtieth birthday, 167, 510
statecraft, 52, 237, 327
superstitious nature, 65, 279, 387, 409, 456, 481, 485, 487
thrifty instincts, 45, 105, 405, 434, 481, 495
Tsai Yuan conspiracy, 30 _et seq._
vindictiveness, 44, 243, 305, 490
violates succession laws, 43, 126, 132, 445, 487
woman of moods, 62, 259
Vernacular Press, _vide_ Press
Victoria, Queen, 333, 337, 448, 492
Wang Chao, Reformer, 197, 232, 449
Wang Wen-shao, 194, 247, 278, 298, 340, 342, 354, 402
Wan Li, Emperor, 1
War, with England and France (1860), 14 _et seq._
of Boxers, 266
Russo-Japanese, 506
with France, 154, 166, 505
with Japan, 98, 157, 167-8, 170, 180, 249, 510
Wei Chung, Eunuch, 83
Weihaiwei, 99, 390
“Wen Ching,” 2, 477, 479
Weng T’ung-ho, 151, 156-7, 178 _et seq._, 233-5, 505, 510
Wen Hsi, 120
Wen Lien, 282, 289, 298, 301
Wen T’i, Censor, 194, 400
Western learning, 187, 191, 199
White Lily sect, 247, 311, 321
Winter Palace, 198, 260
Women, in the Palace, 232
not allowed with army, 485
not allowed with Imperial cortège, 45
rulers, 52, 466
Wu, Empress, 52, 189, 270, 472
Wu K’o-tu, 110 _et seq._, 132 _et seq._, 445, 461, 506
suicide of, 135, 137
Wu San-kuei, 74
Wu Ta-ch’eng, 163, 165
Wu-T’ai shan, 350
Yakoub Beg, 509
Yang Ju, 330
Yang Jui, 202, 220, 225
Yangkunu, Prince, 1
Yang Shen-hsiu, 190, 195
Yangtsze provinces, 78, 328
under Taipings, 67
Viceroys, _vide_ Southern
Yehonala Clan, 2-4, 122, 158, 163, 166, 213, 465, 515
Yehonala, Concubine Imperial, 1 to 13 _et seq._, 26-7 (_vide_ Tzŭ Hsi)
her sisters, 11, 123, 126
Yeh, Viceroy, 12, 24
Yellow Emperor, 145
Yellow Girdles, _vide_ Aisin Gioros
Yellow River, 163, 238, 397, 400, 509
Yellow Sedan-chair, 164
paper decrees, 243
Turban sect, 314
“Yi” Concubine, (_vide_ Yehonala), 17, 31
Yin Chang, 384-5
Ying Nien, 366-7, 372
Ying Tsung, Emperor, 125
Yi, Prince, _vide_ Tsai Yuan, 27, 48
“Young China,” 178, 418, 433, 476, 491
Yüan Ch’ang, 269, 270, 273, 281, 292, 294, 307-26, 377
Yüan Dynasty, 314
Yüan Shih-k’ai, 82, 171, 201, 203 _et seq._, 311, 334, 400, 402,
410, 429, 451, 459, 460
Yu-Ch’uan pu (Ministry of Communications), 430
Yü Hsien, 252, 254, 260, 273, 287, 291, 311, 323, 348-9, 365, 372
Yü Lu, Viceroy, 195, 257, 264, 282, 292, 297, 312, 323, 343
Yünnan, Rebellion in, 117
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