The Last Empress Part 18

I returned to the Summer Palace, tired of the endless bickering between the War Party and the Peace Party. The burden of arbitration was left solely to me, not because I had any special competence but because n.o.body else could do any better.

Behind my back and in the midst of the national crisis, Prince Ch'un requisitioned the funds Li Hung-chang had borrowed for the naval academy. Ch'un built motor launches for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the court at the lake palaces in Peking and on Kun Ming Lake, near where I lived.

Later on, Li Hung-chang would confess, "The Emperor's father was in a position to demand money from me at any time. I let him have his way in exchange for not interfering with my business affairs."

Other admiralty funds were used by Prince Ch'un and Prince Ts'eng to shower gifts on me, underwriting lavish and unnecessary projects in order to win my support. The repair of the Marble Barge was an example.

Enraged, I confronted Prince Ch'un: "What pleasure would the costly d.a.m.n barge bring me?"

"We thought Your Majesty would enjoy going out on the water without wetting her shoes," my brother-in-law said. He further explained that the Marble Barge was originally built by Emperor Chien Lung for his mother, who was afraid of water.

"But I love the water!" I yelled. "I would swim in the lake if I were only allowed to!"

Prince Ch'un promised to stop the project, but he lied. It was hard for him to quit-he had already dispersed most of the funds, and he needed an ongoing excuse to push Li for additional money.

Li Hung-chang parried with Prince Ch'un. Instead of going to foreign banks for loans, Li launched a "Navy Defense Fund Drive." He made no effort to hide the fact that the money he raised would actually benefit "the Dowager Empress's sixtieth birthday party." Li meant to shoot down Prince Ch'un, but I was being used as collateral. Li Hung-chang must have believed that I deserved this treatment because I was responsible for teaming him up with Prince Ch'un in the first place.

Guang-hsu declared war on j.a.pan, but he had little confidence in overseeing it. He relied on Tutor Weng, who knew wars only through books. I had yet to learn how conflicted Guang-hsu was as a man. Lan let me know that her husband was a romantic at heart, but was afraid of women.

"We have been married for five years." Lan's lips trembled and she broke down. "We slept together only once, and now he wants a separation."

I promised to help. The result was that the couple agreed to continue to live together in the same compound. What saddened me was that Guang-hsu had built a wall around his apartment in order to block Lan's entrance.

When I talked with Guang-hsu, he explained that his neglect of Lan was out of self-defense. "She told me that I owe her a child."

He described Lan's midnight intrusions. "She scared my eunuchs, who thought that her shadow was that of an a.s.sa.s.sin."

When I tried to make Guang-hsu understand that Lan had her wifely rights, he said that he didn't think he was able to perform his duty as a husband.

"I haven't been cured yet," he said, meaning his involuntary e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns. "I don't think I ever will be."

Guang-hsu had bravely mentioned his condition to me before, but I had hoped things would improve with greater experience in love.

I was unable to overcome the feeling that I had created a tragedy. It made me feel even worse to know that Lan believed I could force Guang-hsu to love her.

During the day, Guang-hsu and I conducted audiences dealing with the war against j.a.pan; in the evening, we buried ourselves in doc.u.ments and drafts of edicts. The only time we could relax a bit was during late- night breaks. I tried to talk casually about Lan, but Guang-hsu knew my intention.

"I am sure Lan doesn't deserve me," Guang-hsu said. The regret in his eyes was sincere. He held himself responsible for not being able to produce an heir, and said that for some time he had been feeling weak and tired. "I am not asking you to forgive me." He made an effort to push back his tears. "I let you down..." He began to weep. "I am beyond shame as an Imperial man. Soon the world will know."

"Your condition will remain a secret until we find a cure." I tried to comfort him, but now I saw that beyond being despondent he might be truly ill.

"What about Lan?" Guang-hsu raised his tearful eyes. "I am afraid there will come a day when she will publicly attack me."

"Leave her to me."

Lan refused to accept my explanation of Guang-hsu's medical condition. Stubbornly she believed that her husband meant to reject her. "He is listless with me, but he is full of spirit when with his other concubines, especially Pearl."

I made sure that Lan would not let her feelings of frustration run away with her. "We are the ladies of masks," I told her. "Cloaking ourselves in divine glory and sacrifice is our destiny."

I was grateful that Guang-hsu allowed me to bring in doctors to examine him, and he answered their most intimate questions. He had borne so much pain and humiliation. I admired him for being above himself in conquering his personal sufferings.

The diagnosis was delivered, and it broke my heart: Guang-hsu had a lung condition. He had contracted bronchitis, and was vulnerable to tuberculosis. The image of Tung Chih lying on his bed came back to me. I held Guang-hsu in my arms and wept.

25.

The city of Peking ran out of firewood during the New Year of 1894. The wood we did receive was green and damp and produced thick smoke. We coughed and hacked while conducting audiences. The minister of the Board of the Interior was summoned and questioned. He kept apologizing and promising that the next load would be smoke free. According to Yung Lu, the northern section of the railroad responsible for transporting the wood had been destroyed by desperate peasant rebels. The tracks were dislodged and the wooden ties were sold for burning. The troops Yung Lu sent could not fix the problem fast enough.

Early on the morning of New Year's Day, an urgent message woke me: Prince Ch'un had died. "The Emperor's father had a stroke while inspecting naval installations," the message read.

Doctor Sun Pao-tien said that exhaustion had claimed Prince Ch'un's life. The prince had been determined to show his readiness to launch a counterattack against j.a.pan. He had denounced his brother Prince Kung and Viceroy Li Hung-chang. He bragged about his ability to get the job done, "the way a Mongolian plays jump-rope without breaking a sweat."

Prince Ch'un wouldn't consult with Kung or Li. He was not about to "pick up a rock and smash his own toes with it"-he refused to "insult" himself. I had seen the same self-defeating behavior in the rest of the Imperial family. Prince Ch'un might have covered his home with calligraphed maxims about pursuing the simple life, but power meant everything to him.

I remembered being concerned about the discoloration of Prince Ch'un's lips. He believed that his dizziness was just a part of his morning-after hangover. He continued to throw banquets, believing that small talk and private deals were the way to get things done.

Guang-hsu was grief-stricken. He was much closer to his father than his mother, of course. Kneeling between his uncles, he couldn't bring himself to finish the death announcement at the morning audience.

Later, at the reception before the burial, my sister made a show of demanding that her younger son, Prince Ch'un Junior, be given his father's position.

When I denied her request, Rong turned to Guang-hsu and said, "Let's hear what the Emperor has to say."

Guang-hsu stared blankly at his mother as if not understanding her.

"It's my birthright!" Prince Ch'un Junior claimed. He towered over Guang-hsu by half a head. As the leader of the new Manchu generation, the young Ch'un was a man of neither modesty nor patience. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath thick with alcohol. He reminded me of a bull in the mood for a fight.

"Discipline your younger son," I said to my sister.

"Guang-hsu is nothing but an embroidered pillowcase stuffed with straw," Rong said. "Ch'un Junior should have been the one for the throne!"

I could hardly believe my sister. I turned to look at Guang-hsu, who was visibly distraught. Then I nodded at Li Lien-ying, who then yelled, "Her Majesty's and His Majesty's palanquins!"

While riding back to the palace, I realized I had witnessed in our family the decay of the whole royal cla.s.s. It didn't occur to young Prince Ch'un that he could fail just as his father did.

Rong and I had grown so far apart that even seeing each other became unbearable. It worried me that Prince Ch'un Junior could be next in line if something should happen to Guang-hsu. Ch'un Junior had the physical stature but little in the way of a mind. Although I had been encouraging the young Manchus to pursue the path of their ancestors and had been rewarding them with promotions, I was disappointed in my nephew. I insisted that he take an apprenticeship under either Prince Kung or Li Hung-chang. Since the boy refused to follow my instructions, his position in court remained insignificant.

For the next few weeks, while Guang-hsu conducted audiences, I sat in one royal temple or another receiving guests who came to mourn Prince Ch'un. Surrounded by beating drums, loud music and chanting lamas, I performed rituals and gave my approval to various requests regarding the prince's funeral: the number of banquets and guests, the style and scent of candles, the color of the dead's wrapping sheets and the carvings on the dead's decorative b.u.t.tons. No one seemed to care about the ongoing war. The daily death toll from the frontier didn't seem to bother Ch'un Junior or his Ironhat friends. They drank to excess and fought over prost.i.tutes.

I was feeling my age. My bleak view of the future made me sick to my stomach.

"That's because you are not drinking scorpion soup, my lady," Li Lien-ying said.

I told him, "You look like you have a smile mask sewn on your face."

Li Lien-ying ignored me and continued with his advice. "The theory behind the scorpion soup is that it takes poison to fight poison."

On September 17, 1894, at the mouth of the Yalu River, the j.a.panese destroyed half of our navy in a single afternoon, and not a single ship of theirs was seriously damaged. The coast was now literally clear, and j.a.pan could land men and arms and march on Peking.

On November 16, Li Hung-chang reported that the Manchu princes, whom he was forced to do business with, had profited from the war by supplying our troops with defective ammunition. Only one month into the fighting, Port Arthur had been captured. Rather than surrender, Li Hung-chang's field commanders led their soldiers to commit suicide.

Thanks to the dead Prince Ch'un, who had been fabricating field reports and then supplying only the good news to me, I had foolishly felt secure enough to begin preparing for my sixtieth birthday party. Thinking that it would be the moment to celebrate my retirement, I had planned to use the occasion to befriend the wives of foreign amba.s.sadors. I hadn't been able to invite any of them until now, when I was considered officially retired. In the eyes of the court, China's pride would not be injured as much. The foreign emba.s.sies seemed to share the same ease. Being retired meant that I didn't have to be taken seriously.

Perhaps I had never been taken seriously, on or off the throne. What pride had China left to be injured? As long as I was free to help my son, I didn't care what people thought. If being retired meant having more opportunities to make friends who might be of service to the country, I would not only welcome it, I would enjoy it as well.

As it turned out, j.a.pan's continued aggression forced me to cancel all my plans. This annoyed a great many n.o.bles and functionaries who had been expecting lavish handouts.

I resumed my role as the Imperial arbitrator and was shocked to realize that I had become a target of the court-accused of bankrupting the country. I found out that during my short period of retirement, Tutor Weng mismanaged the already shaky royal treasury. When questioned about his responsibility, he claimed that all funds had been disbursed by the late Prince Ch'un for the restoration of the Summer Palace-my home.

I insisted the court open up all of Tutor Weng's books and records for examination, but no action followed. What I didn't realize was that Tutor Weng, who never personally profited a penny, had fattened so many pockets that he created an extensive network of supporters-a wealth greater than money could buy. Sparing Tutor Weng, the nation began to hold me responsible for its defeats. Rumors of my extravagant style of living, including my s.e.xual appet.i.tes, soon spread.

I had trusted Tutor Weng with both of my sons. I would have shared the blame if Tutor Weng had admitted his part. After all, it was to me that the court and the Emperor came for the final word.

While the rumors continued, the conflict between Tutor Weng and me became public. I reminded myself not to lose perspective, but I was determined to pursue Weng's investigation.

Guang-hsu wasn't able to bring himself to take sides. For him, Tutor Weng had long been a moral compa.s.s, a personal G.o.d. Guang-hsu was frustrated that I refused to change my mind about investigating his mentor.

In order to prove Tutor Weng's innocence, Guang-hsu decided to conduct his own investigation. To everyone's surprise, Tutor Weng was found guilty. The Confucius scholar and the late Prince Ch'un had not only misappropriated naval funds but also used my birthday to request great sums, which soon disappeared. After Guang-hsu obtained all the accounting books and other material evidence, he came to me to apologize. I told him that I was proud of his fairness.

I decided to announce that I would accept no gifts for my birthday. My action exposed Tutor Weng: people converged from all over the country, like fleas to a blood meal, trying to get their money back.

Emperor Guang-hsu confronted his mentor. "You were my faith and my spiritual mighty pillar!" he said, and demanded an explanation. Tutor Weng admitted no wrongdoing. He continued his wise-man att.i.tude and warned Guang-hsu about becoming crooked-minded for listening to "an old lady." In the end, the grand tutor was fired. He was given a week to pack up and leave. He would never enter the Forbidden City again.

Guang-hsu was embarra.s.sed by the fact that he picked Tutor Weng to be the chief architect of the war against j.a.pan. He shut himself in his room while Tutor Weng knelt outside, begging for a chance to explain. When this had no effect, the old man went on a hunger strike.

The Emperor finally opened the door and the two men spent an entire day reconciling. As in their cla.s.sroom, Guang-hsu listened while Tutor Weng discussed the source of the failures. The conclusion was that Li Hung-chang should be the one to blame.

While I put up with Guang-hsu's sensitivity, I was annoyed by the tutor's ability to sway the thinking of the Emperor. In my eyes nothing would justify Weng's misconduct. And when Weng made Li Hung-chang the scapegoat, I lost all respect for him. I didn't intend to create enemies by openly taking Li's side, but I saw the necessity of speaking my mind to the Emperor.

In my silence to the court's demand for his prosecution, Li Hung-chang challenged the Emperor for the right to prosecute the Manchu princes who supplied the defective ammunition. Li also demanded the right to choose his own commissioners in the future.

At Tutor Weng's suggestion, Guang-hsu summoned Li Hung-chang for an official audit. The Manchu princes were invited to be witnesses.

Li came prepared. His detailed doc.u.mentation not only advanced his case but also gained him great sympathy from the nation. Letters of support for him poured in from every provincial governor. The pressure mounted. Some began to criticize Guang-hsu himself.

The frustrated Emperor came to me for help. He was humiliated and ridiculed, and he sensed that he was losing the respect of his people. "It is obvious that Li Hung-chang is the one who fits the role of ruler of China," Guang-hsu told me.

The time came when I had to choose between Guang-hsu and Li Hung-chang. I had long sensed my fate, but it was in that moment that I saw the depth of the tragedy. My conscience told me that Li Hung-chang would be good for the people, that he alone could run China. But China was the Manchus' China-I had to go against my principles to save Guang-hsu.

After sleepless nights of weighing my options and gathering my courage, I did the unreasonable and unconscionable thing: I signed the edict denouncing Li Hung-chang. The man was stripped of all his honors. He was charged with mishandling naval funds and for losing the war.

I was ashamed of myself.

I thought I had done enough for Guang-hsu, but this was wishful thinking. Under the influence of his uncle Prince Ts'eng, his cousin Prince Ts'eng Junior and his brother Prince Ch'un Junior, the easily swayed Guang-hsu was persuaded that the punishment already endured by Li Hung-chang was insufficient, that he must be eliminated altogether.

When I was requested to give approval for Li's further prosecution, I could no longer contain my rage. My fierce expression must have scared the Emperor, for he started to stutter and got down on his knees.

The truth was that I was mad at myself. I had allowed Tutor Weng and Prince Ch'un to escape their responsibilities. Why would any clear-headed Chinese be willing to serve his Manchu master after seeing what happened to Li Hung-chang?

I pointed out to Guang-hsu that Li was too valuable to destroy without crippling the government. "He can strike back by seizing power for himself! It would be as easy as flipping his hand. You will find me watching an opera in the Summer Palace when that happens!"

The air in the court was dense and threatening. Suddenly I realized that I was alone and that I could be repudiated by my own clan. All it would take would be to convince Guang-hsu. To protect myself, I negotiated. In exchange for retaining Li Hung-chang's offices, including the viceroyalty of Chihli and the leadership of the Northern Army and the Chinese navy, I suggested that the throne take away Li's prized double-eyed peac.o.c.k feather and the yellow silk field marshal's riding jacket. "It would cause Li extreme loss of face. However, anything more would be rash and unmerciful."

When Prince Ts'eng accused me of missing the opportunity of a lifetime for the Manchus to bring Li to his knees, I withdrew in the middle of the audience.

I could hear the creek splashing behind the palace garden in the Forbidden City. I got up before dawn and sent my eunuch to summon Li Hung-chang.

Li arrived at sunrise wearing a simple blue cotton robe, which made him look like a different man.

"You have been packing?" I began, knowing that he was leaving Peking.

"Yes," he replied. "My carriage will depart in an hour."

"Where will you go?" I asked. "Chihli? Hunan? Or your hometown, Hefei?"

Unable to answer, Li dropped to his knees.

I reminded him that etiquette allowed us only a brief meeting and I had to speak my mind.

Li nodded, but insisted on remaining on the floor.