Authors: Anchee Min
I felt that that was the only conceivable alternative. Yet I had my concerns. Tung Chih's taking up the throne would mean my giving up power. Although I had long looked forward to my retirement, I suspected that it would not be Tung Chih but the court and Prince Kung who would take over what I now held.
Nuharoo was eager to have me retire too. She said that she longed for my companionship: "We will have so much to share, especially when the grandchildren arrive." Would she feel safer after I stepped down? Or had she other intentions? Tung Chih's being in control would mean that Nuharoo would have more influence over his decisions. Hadn't I learned that she was never what she appeared to be?
I decided to comply with the court's proposal, not because I
believed that Tung Chih was ready, but because it was time for him to take charge of his life. As Sun Tzu's
Art of War
put it, "One will never know how to fight a war unless one fights a war."
On August 25, 1872, the selection of Imperial consorts was completed. Tung Chih was barely seventeen years old.
Nuharoo and I celebrated our "ease into retirement." We would be called the Grand Dowager Empresses, although she was only thirty-seven and I almost thirty-eight.
The new Empress-select was a cat-eyed eighteen-year-old beauty named Alute. She was the daughter of a Mongol official of the old stamp. Alute's father was related to a prince who was my husband's distant cousin.
Tung Chih was lucky to have such a girl. The court would not have approved of his choice just because she was beautiful. The reason the court consented to Alute was that the marriage would serve to heal the discord between the Manchu throne and her powerful Mongol clan.
"Although Alute is a Mongolian, she was never allowed to play under the sun or ride horses," Nuharoo said proudly, since Alute was her choice. "That is why her skin is so fair and her features delicate."
I was not overly impressed by Alute. She was shy to the point of being mute. When we were given time to spend together, conversation faltered. She would agree with whatever I said, so I had little sense of who she really was. Nuharoo said that I was being picky. "As long as our daughter-in-law does what we say, what's the point of learning her thoughts?"
My preference was a seventeen-year-old bright-eyed girl named Foo-cha. While less exotic-looking than Alute, Foo-cha was also highly qualified. She had an oval face, quarter-moon-shaped eyes, and sun-bronzed skin. She was the daughter of a provincial governor and had been privately educated in literature and poetry, which was unusual. Foo-cha was sweet but spirited. When Nuharoo and I asked what she would do if her husband spent too much time dallying with her and ignored his official business, Foo-cha replied, "I don't know."
"She should have answered that she would persuade her husband to perform his duty, not his pleasure." Nuharoo picked up her pen and crossed off Foo-cha's name.
"But isn't honesty what we are looking for?" I argued, knowing that Nuharoo could not be swayed to change her mind.
Tung Chih seemed interested in Foo-cha, but he fell helplessly in love with Alute.
I didn't insist that Tung Chih make Foo-cha his Empress. Foo-cha would become Tung Chih's second wife.
The Imperial wedding was set for October 16. The preparations, especially the purchase of all the ceremonial goods and materials, began under Nuharoo's supervision. As a way of placating me, Nuharoo allowed me to decide on the theme of the wedding and suggested that An-te-hai be in charge of the shopping.
When I told my eunuch of Nuharoo's decision, he was excited. But I warned him, "It will be an exhausting journey over a great distance in a short period of time."
"Don't worry, my lady. I will take the Grand Canal."
I was intrigued by An-te-hai's idea. The Grand Canal was the ancient, eight-hundred-mile-long engineering marvel that linked Tung-chow, near the capital, with Hangchow in the south.
"How far will you travel by the canal?" I asked.
"To its end, Hangchow," An-te-hai replied. "It will be a dream come true! The amount I am being asked to purchase will require a fleet of ships, perhaps as grand as Cheng Ho's! The chief eunuch of the celestial Ch'ing Dynasty will get to be the Grand Navigator! Oh, I can't even begin to imagine the trip! I'll stop at Nanking to shop for the best silk. I will pay my respects at Cheng Ho's burial site. My lady, you have just made me the happiest man on earth!"
I had no idea that my favorite would never return.
The events surrounding An-te-hai's death would remain a mystery. But clearly it was my enemies' revenge. My only comfort was that for one moment An-te-hai had been completely happy. I didn't realize how much I loved and needed him until he was gone. Many years later I would conclude that maybe it was not all bad for him. Although he had my blessing and great wealth, he was sick of living in a eunuch's body.
In the mornings I found myself looking forward to the sound of An-te-hai's footsteps in the courtyard, and then his delightful face appearing in my mirror. In the evenings I expected his shadow on my mosquito net and his voice humming the tunes of my favorite opera.
No one told me how my favorite died. The report, dated two weeks before I received it, was sent by Governor Ting of Shantung province and stated that An-te-hai was arrested and prosecuted for violating provincial law. In the report Ting asked for permission to discipline the eunuch, but did not mention the measures he would take.
I requested that An-te-hai be sent back to Peking for me to discipline. But Governor Ting claimed that my messenger didn't reach him in time.
There was no doubt in my mind that Governor Ting knew An-te-hai's background. Ting must have had powerful backing or he wouldn't have had the courage to challenge me.
As it turned out, all evidence pointed to three people: Prince Kung, Nuharoo and Tung Chih.
The day An-te-hai died, I gave up on Tung Chih, for I realized the depth of my son's disaffection toward me.
I was expected to forget An-te-hai. "After all, he was only a eunuch," everyone said. If I were a dog, I would have barked at Prince Kung, who sent me invitations to banquets held by foreign embassies; at Nuharoo, who pleaded with me to join her at operas; and at my son, who sent me
a basket of fruit picked with his own hands in the Imperial fruit garden.
My heart was shattered, and the pieces were pickled in sadness. When I lay in bed, the darkness was impossible to penetrate. I would picture white pigeons circling my roof and An-te-hai's voice gently calling me.
During my own investigation, I tried to find evidence that would exonerate Tung Chih. When I could not deny the facts, I only hoped that my son had been manipulated by others and so was not truly culpable.
"I want to know exactly where, when and how my favorite died," I told Li Lien-ying, now An-te-hai's successor. "I want to know An-te-hai's side of the story and his last wishes."
No one was willing to come forward. "No one in the palace or the court will speak for An-te-hai, and no one is willing to serve as his witness," Li Lien-ying reported.
I sent for Yung Lu, who came as fast as he could from the northern provinces. When he entered the hall of my palace, I ran to him and almost fell on my knees.
He helped me to a chair and waited until I stopped weeping. He gently asked if I was sure that An-te-hai was blameless. I asked Yung Lu what he meant. He replied that during the voyage south An-te-hai's behavior was, if not criminal, certainly out of the ordinary.
"Why are you siding with my enemies?"
"I judge only based on facts, Your Majesty." Yung Lu stood firm. "If you want me to find out the truth, you have to be willing to accept it."
I took a deep breath and said, "I am listening."
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but An-te-hai might not have been the person you thought you knew."
"You have no right to..." Again I began to cry. "You didn't know An-te-hai, Yung Lu! He might have been a eunuch, but he was a true man at heart. I have never known a person who loved life more than An-te-hai did. If you had known his stories, his dreams, his poems, his love of opera, his suffering, you would have understood the man."
Yung Lu looked skeptical.
"An-te-hai was an expert in court etiquette and dynastic laws," I continued. "He would never have violated them. He knew the consequences. Are you telling me that he asked to die?"
"Look at the facts, please, and then ask how they tell otherwise," Yung Lu said quietly. "An-te-hai did something he shouldn't have. I am
sure you're right that he knew the consequences. In fact, he must have contemplated the result of his action before committing himself to it. This makes the case complicated. You can't deny that An-te-hai offered his enemy a chance to eliminate him." Yung Lu looked intensely at me. "Why did he make himself a target?"
I felt lost and shook my head.
Yung Lu requested permission to assemble a team of professional investigators. Within a month, a detailed report was presented to me. Besides Governor Ting, the witnesses included An-te-hai's fellow eunuchs, boatmen, shop owners, dressmakers, local artists and prostitutes.
The weather had been favorable when An-te-hai sailed down the Grand Canal. The eunuch accomplished his mission at the factories in Nanking, where the silks and brocades were woven for the upcoming Imperial wedding. An-te-hai also inspected the progress of the gowns Nuharoo and I had ordered, as well as those for Tung Chih and his new wives and concubines. An-te-hai then visited the grave of his hero, the Ming navigator Cheng Ho. I could only imagine his excitement.
I vividly remembered the moment An-te-hai came to bid me farewell. He was dressed in a splendid floor-length green satin robe with a pattern of ocean waves. He looked handsome and full of energy. I had great hope that this might be a new beginning for him.
Only a few months before, An-te-hai had gotten married. It was the talk of Peking. For the eunuch population, An-te-hai set an example of hope that they, too, might be redeemed from their status. Mentally, marriage might somehow reinstate their manhood and bring them peace. But things had not gone well.
An-te-hai moved away from the eunuchs' quarters to live with his four wives and concubines. Both he and I hoped that his new companions would lift his spirits. He could have had maidens from good families, since he was offering a fortune in dowries, but he purchased women from brothels. I suppose he thought they would share an understanding of suffering and might better accept, or at least be sympathetic to, what he couldn't provide as a husband. An-te-hai purposely avoided picking the pretty women. He looked especially for those who had survived the abuse of men. Wife number one was a twenty-six-year-old who was very ill and had been left to die in her brothel.
It was difficult to compliment An-te-hai's ladies when he brought them to me. They looked like sisters, and their facial expressions were
dull. They snatched cookies from the tray and loudly slurped their tea.
A month or so after An-te-hai's wedding, he moved back to the Forbidden City. The chief eunuch made no mention of his life at home. But everyone except me seemed to know exactly what had happened. From Li Lien-ying I learned that An-te-hai's wives had failed to meet his expectations. The women were rude, loud and unreasonably demanding. They took pleasure in ridiculing his shortcomings. One of them ran away to have an affair with a previous client. When An-te-hai found out, he went after the wife and beat her almost to death.
On the day An-te-hai departed on his buying trip, his recent troubles seemed a distant memory. But still I worried for him. The journey was long, the undertaking huge.
"Be happy for me, my lady," he reassured me. "I feel like a fish going back to its home spring."
"It's a three-month trip. Maybe you can start looking again for a wife," I teased.
"A decent one this time. I'll take your advice and bring back a girl from a good family."
We parted at the port on the Grand Canal where a procession of junks waited. An-te-hai stood on one of the two large dragon barges, decorated with a flying dragon and phoenix. I was sure with such a presentation local authorities would be awestruck. They would be eager to answer An-te-hai's requests or offer their protection.
"Come back for your birthday, An-te-hai." I waved as he boarded.
My favorite one smiled. A brilliant smile. The last one.
My enemies described An-te-hai's procession as an "extravaganza." The eunuch was said to be drunk all the time. "He hired musicians and he dressed in dragon robes like an emperor," Governor Ting's report read. "Dancing to the sound of pipes and cymbals, An-te-hai received the congratulations of his retinue. His behavior was illegal and marked by folly."
The court echoed, "The law says that the punishment for any eunuch who travels outside Peking is death." They had forgotten that this was not An-te-hai's first trip. Over a decade earlier, as a sixteen-year-old, An-te-hai traveled alone from Jehol to Peking on a secret mission to reach Prince Kung. He was not punished but honored for heroism.
No one seemed to hear my argument. An-te-hai had behaved foolishly, had even broken the law. But the punishment did not fit the crime, especially since it had been carried out against my express
wishes. It was clear that the court was trying to justify Governor Ting's crime. What enraged me was how well constructed the plot was. I was provided with just enough specific information to hint at its outlines, but still I was helpless.
An-te-hai was beheaded on September 25, 1872. He was thirty years old. There was no way that I could have prevented the murder, because my enemies meant it to be a prelude to my own death.
I could have ordered Governor Ting's punishment. I could have removed him from his post or ordered his beheading. But I knew that it would be a mistake—I would fall right into my enemies' trap. If An-te-hai were beside me, he would have advised, "My lady, what you are up against is not only the governorship and the court, but also the nation and the culture."