The Last Empress (21 page)

"Has she really said that?" Guang-hsu asked.

I nodded.

"Well, that's nice..." He hesitated and rose from his chair. "I suppose she is the right one, then. You like her, and that's what matters to me."

"Do you mind Lan's lack of beauty?"

"Why should I mind?"

"Most men would."

"I am not most men."

"Well, both of you are not only my closest blood relations but also
people I can truly trust. However, I would not be able to forgive myself if matching you two led to unhappiness."

Guang-hsu went quiet. After a while he said, "In my eyes Lan is beautiful and has always been kind."

I began to relax and felt hopeful.

"Within the family," Guang-hsu continued, "Lan was the one who always protected me when others ridiculed me."

"You are not doing this to please me, are you, Guang-hsu?"

"It would be dishonest to deny that I intend to please you," he said. "I don't think I am allowed to postpone my marriage, since I have already postponed it twice. The world thinks that the reason I am not married is because you refuse to step down."

I was moved by his concern for me. I said nothing, but my eyes grew tearful—I lost Tung Chih but gained Guang-hsu.

"Mother, let's just get it over with. If there is any chance that I shall fall in love, Lan would be the one."

Now I felt nervous and asked Guang-hsu to give himself a few months to think about Lan before making a final decision.

We walked along the shore of Kun Ming Lake where the view was serene. Shrouded in mist, the hills looked like a giant watercolor painting, and the rippling lake reminded me of watered silk.

I sighed when Tung Chih came to mind. "I wished that I had known how to please Alute."

"Let me make you happy again, Mother," Guang-hsu said softly.

The Big Dipper hung bright in the purple sky. That night Li Lien-ying applied green-tea-enriched dandelion cream on my skin and massaged my limbs. Something unsettling had descended over me, but I couldn't figure out what it was. In the future I would wish that I had continued my conversation with Guang-hsu.

I could only say that it was exactly what life was about: a mystery in which one can never know where one truly is.

Guang-hsu chose two sisters from the Tatala clan—which had close connections to the Yehonala clan—as his concubines. The girls were favorite students of Tutor Weng. Guang-hsu first heard his grand tutor praising them, and then was impressed when he met them. The girls' father was the secretary of the Imperial Board of Justice, a friend of Prince Kung's who was known for his liberal views.

I didn't quite know how to react when Guang-hsu presented the girls to me. The younger one, Zhen, or Pearl, was barely fourteen years old. She was beautiful and acted more like Guang-hsu's younger sister than his concubine. Pearl was curious, bright and vivacious. The elder girl, Chin, or Lustrous, was fifteen. She was rotund with a placid but stiff expression. Guang-hsu seemed happy with his selection and asked for my approval.

Although there were a number of girls who came highly recommended, and who in my opinion were much better qualified in terms of beauty and intelligence, I promised myself not to interfere with Guang-hsu's decisions. I was a little selfish and thought that the less attractive the girls, the safer it would be for my niece Lan. I would be doing Lan a disservice by surrounding her husband with beauties. Despite my prayers that Guang-hsu and Lan would eventually fall in love, I asked myself, what if they don't?

Pearl and Lustrous completed a harmonious package. When I lined them up with Lan, I thought the arrangement ideal: Pearl was young,
Lustrous was passive, and Lan was given a chance to shine. My goal was to encourage Guang-hsu to have children with all of them.

The three girls came for tea in beautiful dresses. They reminded me of my youth. I intended to let them know of my regrettable relationship with Alute. The girls didn't expect my frankness and were stunned.

"I am sorry to put you through this," I explained. "If you don't already know the story, you will hear it sooner or later from palace rumors. It's better that I tell you my own version."

I warned them to put aside their expectations of life inside the Forbidden City. "Don't focus on how life should be but how life is." I let Lan know that I was thrilled to share with her a passion for literature and opera, but I cautioned her that poetry and opera are diversions, not serious pursuits.

The girls didn't seem to understand, but each nodded obediently.

"Alute and Tung Chih fell in love the first time they met," I went on. "But Tung Chih abandoned her after a few months for other women." I mentioned how I lost my husband to Chinese concubines. "It takes character, an iron will and endurance to survive inside the Forbidden City." To make my point clear, I emphasized that I would not tolerate another Alute.

While Lan, who already knew the story, listened, Lustrous and Pearl widened their eyes as I spoke of my late daughter-in-law Alute. I had to stop to wipe my tears, for the memory of Tung Chih was unbearable.

Pearl wept when I described Alute's sad end.

"I'd never do what Alute did even if I become disappointed with my life and wish to kill myself," she cried. "Alute was wrong to murder her baby!"

"Pearl," Lustrous interrupted. "Stop, please. Negative emotions will harm the Grand Empress's health."

"Would you say that you have survived and prospered?" Lan asked me at our third tea party.

"Survived, maybe—definitely not prospered" was my reply.

"Everyone in the country believes that your life is a fairy tale," Pearl said. "It's not true?"

"To an extent I suppose it is true," I agreed. "I live in the Forbidden City, thousands cater to my needs, my wardrobe is beyond imagining, but—"

"You are worshiped by millions," Lan interrupted.

"Are you not, Grand Empress?" the sisters followed.

I paused, debating whether I should reveal my true thoughts. "I will say this: I have gained prestige but lost happiness."

Despite her sister's elbow-pushing, Pearl voiced her disbelief and begged me to explain.

"My father was the governor of Wuhu when I was seven years old," I began. "I played with my village friends in the fields, hills and lakes. Our family was financially better off than most of the other townspeople, who relied entirely on the year's crops for survival. My biggest wish was to be able to afford a New Year's present for my best friend, a skinny, long-legged girl nicknamed Grasshopper. Grasshopper said that if I really meant to make her happy, all I had to do was allow her to clean my family's feces pit."

"What?" the Imperial ladies cried. "She wanted your shit?"

I nodded. "To have a steady supply of feces to fertilize his land is every farmer's dream." Sipping the finest tea, I described how Grasshopper and her family came to our house to collect this "gift." How each member carried wooden buckets and a bamboo pole. How they sang songs as they emptied the pit. How Grasshopper worked in the pit on her knees, scraping the sides.

The three delicate ladies were wide-eyed. Pearl looked so taken aback that she held a hand over her mouth, as if afraid of something she might say.

"I will never forget the smile on Grasshopper's face." I drank up my tea. "She made me know what happiness is. I have never known such simple contentment since entering the Forbidden City."

"You sound like you haven't been lucky!" Pearl couldn't help saying.

"No," I sighed.

Guang-hsu and Tutor Weng joined us for dinner. Pearl, in all her innocence and natural charm, begged Guang-hsu to share what he had learned that day. As a student of Tutor Weng herself, they teased each other. Guang-hsu seemed to enjoy Pearl's challenge, and their friendship flourished in front of my eyes.

"I am convinced that China's only hope of salvation is in learning and emulating the science and technology of the Western nations," Guang-hsu said in a high-pitched voice, and Pearl nodded respectfully.

When Pearl asked the Emperor to explain how a clock worked, Guang-hsu sent his eunuch to bring a few items from his collection. Like a performer, he took a clock apart, pointing out its inner
workings. She stared in awe of him, their two heads practically glued together as they continued exploring.

I could tell that Lan wished for the chance to talk with the Emperor about poetry and literature. Later, when I was alone with my niece, I asked of her feelings. We were sitting in front of her dressing mirror.

"Guang-hsu paid more attention to his concubines than to his Empress," Lan complained.

I didn't want to be the one to have to tell her this, but believed she ought to prepare herself: "This could be just a beginning, Lan."

My niece raised her small eyes and glanced at herself in the mirror. She was judging herself critically. A moment later she lowered her head and began to weep. "I am ugly."

I put my hands on her shoulders.

"No!" She shook me off. "Look at my teeth. They are crooked!"

"You are beautiful, Lan." I gently stroked her arms. "You remember Nuharoo, don't you? Who was the prettier, she or I? Everyone agreed that she was, including myself, because that was the truth. I was no rival of Nuharoo. But Emperor Hsien Feng abandoned her for me."

My niece raised her tearful eyes.

"It's all in the effort," I encouraged her.

"What does Guang-hsu see in Pearl?"

"Her vibrancy, perhaps..."

"No, it's her looks."

"Lan, listen to me. Guang-hsu was raised with beauties in his backyard. To him they are nothing but walking ornaments. As you know, Tung Chih abandoned three thousand beauties from all over the country for brothel whores."

"I don't know how to be vibrant!" Lan's tears streamed down her cheeks. "The more I think about it, the more nervous I become. I can't even get Guang-hsu to look at me."

As we bid each other goodnight, I told Lan that there was still time if she wanted to cancel the marriage.

"But I want to be the Empress of China," Lan said, her tone surprisingly determined.

It was the first time I discovered her stubbornness.

"I want to be like you," she added.

On February 26, 1889, Guang-hsu's wedding was celebrated by the nation. The Emperor was not yet eighteen. Like Nuharoo, Lan entered from the center gate, the Gate of Celestial Tranquility. Lustrous and
Pearl entered from the side, the same gate I had entered thirty-seven years before.

A week later, on March 4, I retired from the regency. It was the second time I had done so. I was fifty-four years old. From then on I was officially called the Dowager Empress. I was happily able to return to the gardens of the Summer Palace, leaving the court's headaches to Guang-hsu and his father, Prince Ch'un.

The Manchu hardliners feared Guang-hsu's commitment to reform, which he demonstrated in his very first decree: "I shall overturn the old order in the Middle Kingdom and sweep away reactionary forces who cannot bring themselves to acknowledge reality. And this means demotion, removal, exile and execution for the stone-minded."

Although I offered no public support to Guang-hsu, my silence spoke for itself.

Despising Emperor Guang-hsu and doubting my resolve to withdraw from power, one of the hardliners' representatives, a provincial judge, submitted a petition insisting that I continue the regency. What amazed me was the number of signatures he collected. People must have thought that I hadn't meant what I said. I learned that the judge had assumed that I was waiting for just such a proposal.

Instead of rewarding the judge with a promotion, I canceled the court's plan to discuss the petition. I called it a waste of time and fired the provincial judge, making sure that it was a permanent dismissal. I explained to the nation, "The regency was never my choice to begin with."

My intention was to let people know that bad ideas grow like weeds in the court.

I marked my retirement by hosting a celebration during which I handed out awards to a great many people. I issued half a dozen edicts to thank everyone, living and dead, who had worked during the regency.

Among the important personages I honored was the Englishman Robert Hart, for his devotion and achievement as the inspector general of China's customs service. The edict was issued despite strong objections from the court's ministers. I granted Hart a most prestigious title, the ancestral rank of First Class of the First Order for Three Generations. It meant that the honor was retroactive, bestowed on his ancestors rather than on his descendants. It might seem whimsical from a foreigner's point of view, but for a Chinese, nothing could be more honorable.

I played mute and deaf when the Clan Council cried, "A foreign devil now outranks most of us and our ancestors!"

I could not argue enough that Robert Hart represented the kind of revolutionary change China desperately needed. Yet the court collectively denied my request to meet with him in person. The minister of the Board of Etiquette threatened to resign as he laid out his records showing that in all of Chinese history a female of my status had never received a foreign male. Thirteen more years would pass before I finally got to meet with Robert Hart.

I never expected that the restoration of my retirement home would become a scandal. It began with a gesture of piety. When I decided to settle in the Summer Palace—originally called Ch'ing I Yuan, Garden of Clear Rippling Waters—it was Prince Ch'un who insisted that it be restored. As chief minister, he spoke on behalf of the Emperor. Ch'un meant to provide me with a comfortable home, which I gratefully accepted.

I did not want to embarrass Prince Ch'un by pointing out that he had resisted the same idea when it was proposed by Tung Chih after he mounted the throne back in 1873. At that time Ch'un claimed that there was a shortage of funds. How, I wondered, would he raise the funds now? I could only conclude that he wanted to keep me strolling in my gardens rather than meddling in state affairs.

I remained passive because it was time for Prince Ch'un to step into my shoes. As the minister of the Board of Admiralty, he had been a roaring tiger, tearing apart Li Hung-chang's effort to modernize China. What surprised me was his unlikely collaborator, Tutor Weng. Weng was a liberal and a strong advocate for reform who had supported Li's initiatives. But when he became Prince Ch'un's new minister of revenue, he discovered that he didn't like sharing power with Li. Prince Ch'un and Tutor Weng had already sent numerous memorandums denouncing Li and my approval of Li's projects. Both men were convinced that they could do a better job if they were given total control.