Empress Dowager Cixi: The Concubine Who Launched Modern China (33 page)

As Earl Li did not want to take personal responsibility for the loss of territory – which mattered most for the Chinese – on 3 March
Emperor Guangxu gave him written authorisation to ‘cede territory’. This reflected the wishes of all the Grand Councillors, who
wrote collectively to the empress dowager on the same day, entreating her to understand the emperor’s dilemma, citing ‘danger to the capital’ as his main concern. Cixi did not reply. She turned her back on her adopted son, who in great distress
tiptoed around her apartment trying to see her and get her endorsement.

On 8 April, Japan’s full terms arrived. Apart from an astronomical indemnity, they demanded the cession of Taiwan, known to be a ‘jewel’ of the Chinese empire, and which, as Viceroy Zhang reminded the court,
‘each year earns over 2 million taels for the state coffers, and dozens of times this amount for the merchants and population at large’. As well as Taiwan, Japan wanted the nearby islands of the Pescadores, and the Liaodong Peninsula in south Manchuria. An incensed Cixi told Emperor Guangxu:
‘Cede no land, recall the negotiator and fight on!’

But of course there was no ace up her sleeve. What she had was a determination not to cave in, and a readiness to take risks. She was ignored by the men, who wanted no risks. Upon receiving an ultimatum from Prime Minister Itō, warning that 100,000 troops were on their way to Beijing, Emperor Guangxu, on
14 April, told Earl Li to accept the Japanese terms. On the 17th, the earl signed the Treaty of Shimonoseki with Itō. Japan got the territories it demanded, plus 200 million taels in indemnity.

During this period Cixi was consumed by outrage and despair, made worse by her powerlessness. So acute was her anguish that she would
frequently pass out. A eunuch
‘often spotted Cixi weeping when she thought she was alone’. He said that ‘Cixi’s private tears revealed untold agony in her heart . . . If one were to ask me to name one thing about Cixi, I would say she was the most tormented person on earth.’

Compared with the two previous indemnities, to Britain in 1842, and to Britain and France in 1860, the sum forced out of China in 1895 reveals the rising Asian power’s unparalleled appetite and mercilessness. The European demands – sixteen million taels in the first case, and eight million to each country in the latter – had been more or less related to their war costs and the damages inflicted on non-combatants. The 200 million to Japan bore little relation to the costs incurred, as Japan had only thirty million taels in total in its state coffers at the beginning of the war, and the war bonds it had sold subsequently – eighty million – were only partially cashed. Prime Minister
Itō did not dispute these figures when Earl Li cited them.

The treaty enraged the entire Chinese ruling elite. Many hundreds of officials in the capital signed petitions calling for its rejection, joined by more than a thousand members of the literati who were in Beijing from the provinces for the Imperial Examination. The scale of the ‘No’ campaign was unprecedented. Even though the treaty was not officially made public, word had got round. All petitioners implored the emperor to refuse to ratify it – some urging him to move the capital to the interior and settle for a protracted war. But their impassioned words were dismissed as ‘
a voice and nothing besides’ (to quote Hart). Public opinion carried little weight with Emperor Guangxu, for whom the only domestic threat was armed peasant rebellion; otherwise, the only menace was Japan, which could topple the Great Qing.

Then, unexpectedly, some European powers came to the aid of Beijing. Russia, Germany and France stepped in and demanded that Japan return the Liaodong Peninsula to China, on the grounds that occupying it would ‘put the Chinese capital in a permanently threatened position’. Europe feared a Japanese takeover of China. Robert Hart remarked:
‘if Japan wins and takes China, the biggest empire the world ever saw – the most go-ahead and the most powerful . . . let 1900 look out!’
Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany coined the expression the ‘Yellow Peril’, to refer to what he saw as Europe’s nightmare: Japan ‘at the head of a consolidated Asia, the control of China by Japan’.

Seeing clear proof of Europe’s concern, Cixi judged that it was highly unlikely that Japan would attack Beijing and finish off the Qing dynasty. Japan was not yet in a position to challenge the West. (As it happened, Japan eventually accepted the three European powers’ demand and withdrew from the Liaodong Peninsula – albeit at a cost.) She hoped that Emperor Guangxu and the grandees could recognise that the capital and the dynasty were secure, and would then stand firm and refuse the Japanese terms. Of course Japan might go ahead and seize Beijing regardless, but Cixi reckoned that it was a risk worth taking. The terms of the treaty were too damaging to the empire for its leaders not to take that risk. In her calculation, pressured by Western powers and facing a China that showed a determination to fight a protracted war, Japan might well settle for a peace treaty that was far less fatal than the Treaty of Shimonoseki.

Hoping the court would think the same way as she did, on 26 April
Cixi asked the Grand Council to reconsider the peace treaty thoroughly and give her their thoughts. But these men all agreed with the emperor that they must be certain that Europe would definitely intervene on their behalf before deciding to fight, and the emperor ordered cables sent to the three countries for a definitive commitment. Unsurprisingly, there was no immediate reply. While waiting, Emperor Guangxu became obsessed about meeting the deadline for the ratification of the treaty, petrified that once it had passed, the Japanese would march into Beijing. Stretched to breaking point, the twenty-three-year-old looked haggard beyond his years. No grandee advised against ratification: none wanted to be the one responsible for the fall of the dynasty. Grand Tutor Weng just groaned that he was ready to smash his head to smithereens if it were of any help. All eyes were on Prince Gong, even though he had in fact contributed little and was gravely ill. Characteristically, the prince advised endorsing the treaty. For all his qualities, he was essentially a weak man who was prone to buckle in a major crisis.

As neither the emperor nor the grandees expressed a resolve to fight,
Cixi stopped trying to persuade them. But she refused to take part in endorsing the Treaty of Shimonoseki. The ratification was confirmed by Emperor Guangxu on 2 May, with Prince Gong and the Grand Council in attendance. The moment was accompanied by much
‘trembling’ and ‘weeping’. Emperor Guangxu then cabled Earl Li, telling him to exchange the instruments of ratification at once. This was done on 8 May. The emperor even
rushed the earl, as the young man could not wait to get the whole thing over and done with.

He had chosen
‘the safest line to follow’, Robert Hart remarked, ‘it’s an empire that is at stake!’ But to Cixi the cost of ‘peace’ was just too high, and it would ultimately wreck rather than save the empire. She had foresight, defiance, and courage. What she lacked was a mandate.

The Treaty of Shimonoseki ruined China. Charles Denby, the American minister who had acted as an intermediary in the deal, who had witnessed the relatively good times before the war and the abysmal years afterwards, wrote: ‘
The Japanese war was the beginning of the end for China.’ As well as the 200 million taels of indemnity, China was forced to pay Japan another thirty million for the return of the Liaodong Peninsula. These plus other ‘costs’ amounted to 231.5 million taels, more than four times Japan’s annual revenue. There was also the booty of war in the form of arms and gunboats.

To make the payment Emperor Guangxu borrowed from the West. China’s
foreign debts had been forty-one million taels altogether over the past thirty years and had virtually been paid off by mid-1895. The country could have been cash-rich, with funds to carry out a wide range of modernising projects, not to mention raising living standards. But this splendid inheritance was thrown away and, instead, it was forced to borrow 300 million taels under crippling terms. Adding together the indemnity, the interest on the loans and China’s own gigantic expenditure during the conflict, the war – and ‘peace’ – cost the country as much as 600 million taels, nearly six times its total revenue in 1895 (101.567 million). To exacerbate an already dire situation, the impatient Emperor Guangxu decided to pay off Japan in just three years. All the Customs’ takings now went to Japan, and domestic taxes were increased. The provinces were given quotas to contribute, and they in turned squeezed the population. The life-blood was being pumped out of China.

As with many other false accusations, this disastrous war and ‘peace’ have often been blamed on Cixi. In a vague but categorical way, her accusers have asserted that she depleted the navy in order to build her Summer Palace, that she had been obsessed with her sixtieth birthday and neglected the war, and that she was a spineless appeaser. The truth is that it was she who had founded China’s modern navy; the building of the Summer Palace did not deprive it of cash, even though she did take a small portion of the funds. She did not actively participate in the war for a long time, not because she was indulging in her birthday preparations, but because Emperor Guangxu barred her. And far from being an appeaser, she was the only person in the court who unambiguously advocated rejecting Japan’s demands and fighting on.

Misappropriating naval funds before the war (even though she donated roughly the same amount during the conflict) and soliciting birthday presents were both massive misjudgements and were undoubtedly reprehensible. One sapped the discipline of the navy, the other damaged the morale of the court. She realised her mistakes, and would make amends in future years. In spite of these sins, she was liable neither for the defeat nor for the spectacularly harmful ‘peace’. These were the responsibility of Emperor Guangxu (who has been undeservingly cast in popular myth as a tragic hero struggling to do his best) and, to a lesser extent, the Grand Councillors (though they were officially no more than advisers). Ultimately, the blame must lie in a system that deposited such heavy responsibility on such slight shoulders. Robert Hart lamented that ‘
there’s no head – no strong man’. Indeed, there was only a strong
woman
, but she could not be the head at the moment of the crisis. Nor could her voice be heard outside a tiny circle in the court – a tragic situation that provided fertile soil for all the untrue allegations against her. Later a perceptive Frenchman said of Cixi, ‘
C’est le seul homme de la Chine
.’ That was the real Cixi in the Forbidden City in 1895.

18 The Scramble for China (1895–8)

AFTER THE CATASTROPHIC
war was over, Cixi returned to retirement. On 30 June 1895, a retinue formally accompanied her out of the Forbidden City to the Sea Palace, before she eventually moved back to the Summer Palace. With eunuchs in colourful costumes designed for special occasions, and court musicians playing trumpets, Prince Gong and the other grandees knelt on a stone path facing south, and banged their heads on the ground three times when Cixi’s sedan-chair passed. Henceforth, whenever she visited the Forbidden City, there were elaborate rituals involving all the officials inside the palace wearing ceremonial robes. Such rituals highlighted the fact that she was not running the state.

Yet this new period of retirement was different from before. Since the Pearl affair, Cixi had been given sight of all key documents, and this
continued. Her adopted son consulted her far more nowadays, and there was a
marked increase in his visits to the Summer Palace. The young emperor and the Grand Councillors realised that signing the ruinous treaty against the wishes of the empress dowager was tantamount to ‘drinking poison to quench thirst’. It had brought the empire anything but genuine peace.
Viceroy Zhang, who had petitioned feverishly against signing the treaty and been ignored, now pointed out that the treaty only enriched Japan and whetted its appetite, and that it would be sure to seek to conquer a drastically enfeebled China at a future stage. In addition,
the European powers were now all too aware how weak the empire was and would make endless demands backed up by the threat of war, knowing that China was unable to call their bluff.

Indeed, as far as the European powers were concerned, China was now exposed as a paper tiger. Hitherto they had regarded her with a certain respect, partly on account of her size. Now they knew the giant was ‘filled with wind’, to quote Charles Denby, and ‘the Chinese bubble had burst’. They learned that ‘she could not fight, and were prepared on the slightest pretence to seize her territory’. While the kinder-hearted excused her (‘China is not a warlike nation – her antecedents, her civilization, her idiosyncrasies, all make for peace, and it’s a pity that the rough world should disturb it . . .’ wrote Robert Hart), the general attitude was undisguised contempt. Grand Tutor Weng noted: ‘
When the envoys of Western countries come to the Foreign Office, they no longer behave in a courteous manner; they shout abuse at the drop of a hat.’ Witnessing one visit to the Foreign Office by some Westerners, a Chinese official felt his
‘blood vessels were bursting from outrage’.

Emperor Guangxu felt defensive. It was noticed that he did not make a full public statement about the war, but only
wrote to top officials, asking for their understanding – and telling them not to speak about the matter again, thus vetoing a post-mortem. The emperor offered no reflections on the lessons to be learned, or on specific plans for the future – apart from the platitude that they must do ‘the two big things: train the army and find more money to fund it’. He was troubled, and tried to deflect responsibility in the most childish way, telling some officials that two of the Grand Councillors had
‘forced me to ratify’ the treaty. The main scapegoat was Earl Li. But rather than blaming him for the actual damage he had done – misleading the throne about the strength of China’s defence before the war and mishandling the war when it broke out – the emperor went along with the widespread rumour that Earl Li had signed the treaty without his authorisation. At his first post-war audience with the earl, His Majesty
berated Earl Li for handing over 200 million taels of silver, plus Taiwan and all the rest, when he himself had actually charged the earl to do so. The earl, who had just recovered from a pistol wound sustained in an assassination attempt while he was negotiating in Japan, could do nothing but bang his head on the floor again and again, saying: ‘Yes, yes, Your Majesty, it is all my fault.’ This charade was acted out in front of the Grand Councillors, all of whom were aware of the truth.