Authors: Anchee Min
While the nation applauded Guang-hsu's dismissal of so-called corrupt officials, few of the throne's edicts had been executed, which meant no significant progress in reform had taken place. Guang-hsu expected to harvest his reforms by the end of the year, but the only thing that seemed to be coming was war with Japan.
"Young women in Japan are offering their virginity to soldiers willing to volunteer for service in China," one Peking newspaper reported.
Guang-hsu kept his door closed and worked with his reformer friends in the Hall of Spiritual Nurturing until "the wild geese flew across the dawn sky," according to the eunuchs. The country was on the brink of chaos. The ministers and officers who were fired continued to kneel at my front gate while the Ironhats trained their Moslem troops.
I looked at myself in the mirror and a saying came to mind: "The ship sinks when a female goes on board." I had never believed it before. On the contrary, I had intended to offer myself as proof that it wasn't true. But the thought persisted:
Hsien Feng's ship sank! Tung Chih's ship sank! And now Guang-hsu's—all with you on board!
When I recounted my recent trip to the royal cemetery, Guang-hsu showed little interest. It was time to begin construction on his own tomb, but I had been told that funds were unavailable. When I implored my son to find a way to fund the project, he replied, "There were Manchu emperors who were not buried at the royal cemetery."
"It was circumstance, not their choice." I told Guang-hsu that it hurt me to think that he would be excluded from the family cemetery. "If I raise any money, it will go toward reform," Guang-hsu said.
Through the transparent curtain I observed Ito Hirobumi. I was sitting on the side of the Grand Hall, where I could see the guest but he couldn't see me.
Ito sat in front of my son dressed in a plain blue Japanese garment, which reflected his position as Li Hung-chang had described it, that of "a private citizen in his leisure time." Ito's hands rested on his knees. His back was straight and his chin was low.
My son, although dressed in the golden dragon robe of the Emperor, sat like a pupil, leaning forward, listening. An ensemble of strings and gongs softly played ancient music in the background. The gongs were meant to evoke distant peaceful times, but to my ear it sounded like explosives—Japanese cannons destroying our fleet. I fought to separate the humble man in front of me from the murderer of Queen Min. I tried to view Ito through my son's eyes.
The two men exchanged words about the weather and each other's health. My son asked whether Chinese food would suit his guest. Ito replied that there was no better cuisine in the world than Chinese cuisine.
I expected a conversation of political significance to follow, but it did not occur.
The guest began to talk about his favorite Chinese poets, and recited, "While moonbeams danced on the crest of waves where the water touches the sky..."
My son smiled and took a sip of tea.
"In Japan," Ito said, in a gentle voice, "only the children of the privileged class are taught Chinese poetry, and only the nobility can read and write Mandarin." His voice was full of admiration.
Guang-hsu nodded respectfully, slouching his shoulders and then sinking back into his chair.
When the clock struck four times, the minister of the interior appeared and pronounced that the Imperial reception was over.
I withdrew quietly before the two men rose.
The minister of national security, who worked directly for Yung Lu, sent me a memorandum. He asked for permission to issue Kang Yu-wei a Warning of Violation. Our spy had discovered that the reformer
had gone to the Japanese embassy, where he supposedly met with Ito.
My son would be offended
was the thought that came to mind. Guang-hsu would take such a warning as Yung Lu's as a personal attack on him.
I sent for Yung Lu and asked whether he was aware of the connection between the Board of National Security and Prince Ts'eng's Iron-hats, whose goal was to replace my son on the throne.
Yung Lu said that he knew of the connection. He agreed with me that "in trying to shoot the fly, we might end up shattering the vase instead."
I asked what we should do.
"It must be your decision, Your Majesty."
I protested and said that my priority was to avoid jeopardizing the Emperor's reform plan. "My son should be the one to issue Kang a warning. I cannot talk him into doing that until you provide solid evidence that Kang's activities threaten the nation's security."
"It is impossible to obtain the full facts at this stage," Yung Lu said.
"Then I cannot grant your minister the permission."
Quietly Yung Lu said that if he was not allowed to do his job, he would resign.
"You would not abandon me" was my reply.
We sat staring at each other for a long moment.
"You let Li Hung-chang go," he said.
"You are not Li Hung-chang."
"I can't work with your son. He doesn't respect me and he thinks he doesn't need me!"
"I need you!" My tears came. Yung Lu sighed, shaking his head.
My son let me know that reformer Kang Yu-wei claimed that he was the friend of ambassadors all over the world.
"What about Li Hung-chang?" I asked my son. "Li has actually met the 'real tigers' and has negotiated with them for years."
"Sure, Li negotiated, but for himself, not for China."
"Li Hung-chang has been behind every major reform." I tried to keep calm.
"But he won't call for complete political reform!" My son could no longer keep his voice down.
"Guang-hsu, calling for such radical change could mean your dethroning..."
The Emperor laughed. "As it is, I am an emperor without an empire! I have nothing to lose."
"Let me ask you this. Do you know why Japan stopped the Allies from setting fire to the Forbidden City back in 1861?"
Guang-hsu shook his head.
"Because the Japanese Emperor plans to live here one day."
"Another clever story from Li Hung-chang and Yung Lu!" "I have evidence, my son."
"Mother, nothing I say will convince you that Ito is not a monster. All I ask for is your patience. Please judge me by results. My plans are yet to take effect."
There was a resounding confidence in Guang-hsu's voice. I remembered the days when he feared the sound of thunder, when he trembled in my arms. What more could or should I ask of him?
The reformer spent his nights in the Forbidden City and discussed the implementation of the reform plans with the throne"—the foreign newspapers printed Kang Yu-wei's lies day after day. Anyone familiar with Imperial law would know that a commoner could not stay overnight in the Forbidden City. Not until I read "The solution to China's reform is the permanent removal of the Dowager Empress from power" did I understand what Kang Yu-wei was up to.
I did not want the world to think that Kang mattered to me, or that he had the power to manipulate my son. His lies would be exposed as soon as my son established himself and I could retire completely. The citizens of the world would see with their own eyes what I had been up to.
I did myself a favor and started to wear wigs. Thanks to Li Lien-ying, who was trained as a hairdresser, I was able to sleep for an extra half hour in the morning. His wigs were lavish, with beautiful ornaments, and comfortable to wear.
In June I decided to move back to the Summer Palace. Although I had been comfortable living with Guang-hsu at Ying-t'ai, our island pavilion nearby, I realized that he needed to be out from under my wing. He never expressed it, but I could tell that he disliked the fact that my eunuchs could see everyone who went in or out of his quarters. Guang-hsu worried about exposing his friends to the Ironhats, who meant them only harm. I agreed that the Emperor had reason to worry: my eunuchs could be bribed to betray anyone.
The court's conservatives were unhappy about my moving because they expected me to spy on the throne for them. I believed that my son knew my intentions and trusted me despite our ongoing disagreements. Letting Guang-hsu be on his own meant my total trust, which was the biggest help I could offer.
In the evenings, after I finished bathing, Li Lien-ying would light jasmine-scented candles. As I read Guang-hsu's latest updates, my eunuch sat at the foot of my bed with his bamboo basket of tools. There he would work on my new wigs. When my eyes got tired of reading, I watched him as he stitched jewels, pieces of carved jade and cut glass onto a wig. Unlike An-te-hai, who expressed himself by challenging his fate, Li Lien-ying found expression in wigmaking. The first few years after An-te-hai's murder, I was lonely and depressed and even suspected that Li Lien-ying had a role in his death. "You were jealous of An-te-hai," I once accused. "Did you secretly curse him so you might be his replacement?" I told Li Lien-ying that he would never get what he wanted if I found out that he was involved in An-te-hai's murder.
My eunuch let the wigs speak for him. He never resented my stormy ways. It wasn't until I saw how his wigs saved my appearance that I began to truly trust him. After I turned sixty, it became harder for me to live up to the expectation that I look like the goddess Kuan-yin. Li Lien-ying served my needs in ways that made him the equal of An-te-hai.
When I asked him why he put up with me, he replied, "A eunuch's greatest dream is to be missed by his lady after his death. It comforts me that you have not gotten over An-te-hai. It means that you would miss me too if I should die tomorrow."
"I am afraid that I must go on living in order to display your beautiful wigs," I teased. "I am so poor that the wigs will probably be the only things I can leave you when I die."
"There would be no better fortune, my lady."
By the time the wisteria climbed over the trellis I still wasn't able to retire. Guang-hsu's inability to exert control over the court left him vulnerable. He had made an enemy of every senior member of the old court, and his new advisors had neither the political influence nor the military clout for effective action. No critical reforms had been made, and it seemed that Guang-hsu's whole program for change was petering out.
I would lose everything if Guang-hsu's reforms were to miscarry. I would be forced to replace him, and it would cost me my retirement—I would have to start all over again, choosing and raising another infant boy who would someday rule over China.
What frustrated me equally was that the consequences of Li Hung-chang's dismissal began to show. The hoped-for industrialization of the country had now ground to a halt. Everything awaited Li Hung-chang, the only man with the international and domestic connections necessary to get things done.
Yung Lu continued his duty on the military front, but only because I intervened at the last minute to stop my son from firing him. Under the spell of the reformer, Guang-hsu was becoming even more radical in his actions. It grew more and more difficult for me to comprehend his logic.
The Emperor went on insisting that progress was being impeded by Yung Lu and Li Hung-chang. "But most of all," he said with angry tears in his eyes, "it is because your shadow still sits behind the curtain!"
I quit explaining. I could not make Guang-hsu see why I had to stay engaged. I had given him permission to fire Li Hung-chang but had immediately begun to lay the groundwork for his return. It was only a matter of time before the Emperor would discover that he couldn't function without Li and would need to mend his relationship with him, as well as with Yung Lu. I would serve as the glue, so that neither party would risk the loss of face and reputation. As it turned out, no matter how much my son angered and humiliated them, the two men always came back.
"The failure of a thousand-mile dike starts with an ant colony." So began a message from Li Hung-chang in the fall of 1898 that warned of a foreign conspiracy against me. The goal was to make Guang-hsu a puppet king.
I couldn't say I was surprised. I was aware that my son had been carried away by his vision of a new China, reinvigorated by his own hand. Yet I chose ignorance because I couldn't stand fighting him anymore. I wanted to please him so he would think of nothing but my love.
While I was admiring the lotus flowers swaying in the gentle breeze at Kun Ming Lake, reformer Kang Yu-wei secretly contacted General Yuan Shih-kai, Yung Lu's right-hand man in the military. I had no idea that
Guang-hsu's permission for Kang's "unlimited access to the Forbidden City" extended to my bedroom door.
A week after the scurrilous attack on me in the foreign press, I received a formal letter from Guang-hsu. Seeing the familiar seals and opening the envelope, I couldn't believe what I read: a request that the capital be moved to Shanghai.
I was not able to stay calm. I summoned my son and told him that he'd better give me one good reason for such an outrageous idea.
"The
feng shui
in Peking works against me" was all he could say.
I tried to block a loud "no" from rolling out of my chest.
Guang-hsu stood by the door as if getting ready to escape.
I paced the room, then swung around to look at him. Sunlight hit his robe, making his accessories glitter. He was pale.
"Look me in the eyes, son."
He couldn't. He stared at the floor.
"In history," I said, "only the Emperor of a fallen dynasty, such as the Soong, relocated the capital. And it didn't save the dynasty."
"I have an audience waiting," Guang-hsu said flatly. He no longer wanted to listen. "I must go."
"What are you going to do about the Tientsin military inspection? It has already been scheduled." I chased him to the gate.
"I am not going."
"Why? You can learn what Yung Lu and General Yuan Shih-kai are doing."
Guang-hsu stopped. He pivoted his body at an odd angle, and his hands went to the wall. "You are going, aren't you?" He looked at me nervously, blinking his eyes. "Who else? Prince Ts'eng? Prince Ch'un Junior? Who else?"
"Guang-hsu, what's wrong with you? It was your idea."
"How many people are going?"