Imperial Woman (20 page)

“You know, my lord, that the Commander of the Imperial Guard is my kinsman?” This she said, still seeming half asleep.

“I know—that is, I have so heard.”

“Long ago I made my uncle Muyanga a promise concerning him and I have never kept that promise—oh, me!”

“So?”

“If you invite him to our son’s birthday feast, my lord, my conscience will not tease me.”

The Emperor was languidly surprised. “What—a guardsman? Will it not stir jealousy among the lesser princes and their families?”

“There is always jealousy among the small, my lord. But do as you will, my lord.” So she murmured.

Nevertheless in a little while she made slight movements of withdrawal from him. Then she yawned and said that she was tired.

“My tooth aches,” she said next, and lied, for all her teeth were white and solid as pure ivory.

After this, she slipped from the bed and put on her satin shoes, and said, “Do not summon me tomorrow night, my lord, for I shall not like to tell the Chief Eunuch that I will not come, if so be you send him for me.”

The Emperor was alarmed, knowing her relentless will and that she did not love him, and not loving, how he must plead for her favor and bargain for it. He let her go, troubled though he was, and so passed two nights, and she did not come and he dared not send for her, lest there be laughter in the palace if the eunuchs heard she had refused him again. They knew her tricks, and how often the Emperor had been compelled to send her gifts before she would return to him. The last time had been vexatious indeed, for she would not show obedience until he had sent a eunuch to the south, five provinces away, to find some hornbill ivory, that strange rare substance of the helmeted hornbill’s beak, which lives only in the jungles of Malaya and Borneo and Sumatra. Tzu Hsi had heard of this bird and she craved an ornament made of the yellow ivory on its high beak, covered with a skin of scarlet. This ivory came first to the imperial court as tribute from Borneo, centuries ago, and it was so rare that only emperors could wear the ivory in buttons and buckles and thumb rings and its scarlet sheath was used to cover their ceremonial belts. In the dynasty now ruling the princes of the imperial house still loved this ivory so well that no woman was allowed to wear it, wherefore Tzu Hsi longed for it and would have it. When the Emperor explained to her with patience that she could not have it, and how the princes would be angry if he yielded to her, she said she would have it nevertheless, and she withdrew herself for weeks until in despair he yielded, knowing how relentless and unchangeable she was where her will was concerned.

“I wish I did not love so troublesome a woman,” he groaned to his Chief Eunuch next day.

An Teh-hai groaned, too, to show respect. “We all wish it, Most High, and yet we all love her—except some few who hate her!”

Now again the Emperor yielded and sent her his promise, and on the third night, the last before the birthday feast, he summoned Tzu Hsi and she went, very proud and beautiful and gay, and being generous and just when she could have her way, she gave him full reward. That same night Jung Lu received the imperial invitation to the birthday feast.

The day of the feast dawned fine and fair, the air blown clean by earlier sandstorms, and Tzu Hsi woke to noise and music. In every courtyard in the city families set off fire crackers when the sun rose, and they beat gongs and drums and blew trumpets. This was true in each city in the realm and in all villages, and for three days no one was to work.

She rose from her bed early, imperious beyond anything she had ever been, yet careful as her habit was to be courteous to each woman in her place, as tenderly careful of her serving woman as of the highest of her court ladies. She was bathed, she allowed herself to be dressed, she ate her morning sweetmeats. The Heir was then presented to her in his royal robes of scarlet satin, wearing on his head the imperial hat of his unique rank. She took him in her arms, her heart near breaking with love and pride. She smelled his perfumed cheeks and the perfumed palms of his little hands, plump and firm with healthy flesh, and to him she whispered, “I am most fortunate of all women born upon this earth today.”

He smiled his baby smile at her and tears came to her eyes. No, she would not be afraid, even of jealous gods. She was strong in herself and none could assail her on earth or in heaven. Her destiny was her shield and buckler.

Now, the hour having come, she summoned her ladies and preceding the Heir in her palace sedan she went to the Supreme Throne Hall, the very center of the Forbidden City, and the place the Emperor had chosen for receiving the birthday gifts. This central and most sacred hall in length was two hundred feet, in width one hundred feet, in height one hundred and ten feet, and it was the largest of all the palaces. Flanked by two lesser halls, it rose from a broad marble terrace, known as the Dragon Pavement, and below this terrace were five tiers of marble steps, carved between with dragons. Upon the terrace stood gilded cisterns and incense burners and sun dials and grain measures, symbols of Heaven and Earth, and it was surrounded by marble balustrades whose pillars repeated the sacred numbers of the gods. Today the roof of the hall shone golden in the sun. No weed or wild grass marred its smoothness, for when the tiles were laid in ancient times a certain poison had been mixed with the mortar and this poison killed all windblown seeds of weeds and trees.

Alas, so sacred was this Supreme Throne Hall that no woman had ever entered it, and not even the pride and beauty of Tzu Hsi could admit her on this day. She gazed at the golden roof, the carved doorways and the painted eaves and then withdrew into a lesser hall and one she chose, the Hall of Central Harmony, preferring it to the other, the Hall of Exalted Harmony.

Yet the Emperor was mindful of her. When he had seated himself upon the Dragon Throne, and had there received gifts from the nation, the Heir beside him in the arms of Prince Kung, he commanded that all gifts be taken by eunuchs to the Hall of Central Harmony. Thus Tzu Hsi was shown them and she examined them and made appraisal and although she would not express her pleasure at magnificence, for no gift could be too splendid for her son, yet all who watched her face saw pleasure in her bright eyes and vivid looks, for indeed the tribute was very rich and valuable.

The day was not long enough for the receiving of the gifts, and when the sun set, those gifts still remaining to be seen, all from the lower princes and lesser persons, were put aside. The moon rose and this was the hour for the feasting in the Imperial Banquet Hall, where only mighty feasts were held. Here the Emperor and his two Empresses preceded all and they sat at a table set apart, and at a table near them the Heir sat upon the knees of his uncle, Prince Kung. The Emperor could not keep his eyes from the child, and indeed the little boy was in the gayest mood. His large eyes, so like his mother’s, traveled from one huge candle to another as they swayed in tasseled lanterns above the tables, and he pointed at them and clapped his hands and laughed. He wore a robe of yellow satin which reached from his neck to his velvet shoes and upon it were embroidered small dragons in scarlet silk. Upon his head he wore a hat of scarlet satin, plumed with a little peacock feather, and around his neck was padlocked as always the chain of gold which Tzu Hsi had placed there when he was born, to keep him safe from evil spirits who might wish him dead. All admired the Heir but none spoke aloud their praise, nor mentioned his health and good growth, lest cruel demons hovered near.

Only Sakota, the Empress of the Eastern Palace, looked at him sadly, and mild as she was, she could not forebear a peevish word or two. When the Emperor in courtesy urged her to taste some dish she shook her head and said she could not eat, she was not hungry, and of all the dishes this one she liked the least, and when Tzu Hsi deferred to her she pretended not to hear. She sat there at the feast table, thin as a bird, her little clawlike hands heavy with jewels too large, and under her high headdress her face was pale and pinched. Who could blame the Emperor when he turned from this Consort to the other? Never had Tzu Hsi been so beautiful and so endowed with grace. To Sakota’s peevishness she replied with most perfect patience, and all who saw her felt the largeness of her spirit.

Among the low tables set for the thousand guests who sat on scarlet cushions eunuchs garbed in bright robes moved in silent swiftness to serve them all. At the far end of the hall were the Court ladies, the wives of princes and ministers and noblemen, and at the other were the noblemen themselves. Nearest to Tzu Hsi, indeed at her right hand, the Lady Mei had her seat, and Tzu Hsi looked down upon her and smiled. Both knew where Jung Lu sat, though at a distant table. Guests wondered doubtless why the Commander of the Guard had been so honored, but when the question was put behind a hand to some eunuch passing by he had the answer ready.

“He is the kinsman of the Empress of the Western Palace and here by her command.”

To this no further question could be made.

Meanwhile the hours of feasting passed, the Court musicians played upon their ancient harps, their flutes and drums, and the theater went on for those who cared to see. The stage was raised high enough for the Emperor and his Consorts but not above them. The Heir fell fast asleep at last, the Chief Eunuch carried him away, the candles burned and guttered, and the feast drew near its end.

“Tea for the nobles,” Prince Kung commanded the Chief Eunuch when he had returned.

Then eunuchs served tea to all the nobles but none was served to the Commander of the Guard, who was not noble. Tzu Hsi, seeming not to see, saw all, and she beckoned with her jeweled hand, and Li Lien-ying, always watching, moved quickly to her side.

“Take this bowl of tea from me to my kinsman,” Tzu Hsi commanded in her clearest voice. She put the porcelain cover upon her own bowl she had not tasted, and gave it with both hands into the two hands of the eunuch. And Li Lien-ying, proud to be the bearer, carried it in both hands to Jung Lu, who rose to receive it in his two hands. He set it down and turning toward the Empress of the Western Palace he bowed nine times to signify his thanks.

All talk ceased, and eyes turned to eyes. But Tzu Hsi seemed not to notice. Instead, she looked down at Lady Mei and smiled again. This moment also passed. The Chief Eunuch motioned to the musicians and fresh music soared into the air while the last dishes were presented.

The moon was high, the hour was late. All waited for the Emperor to rise and make his way again to the terrace where his sedan waited. But he did not rise. He clapped his hands and the Chief Eunuch cried out for the music to be stilled.

“What now?” Tzu Hsi inquired of Prince Kung.

“Empress, I do not know,” he said.

Silence fell once more upon those feasting and eyes turned to the doors through which the eunuchs came and went.

The Son of Heaven leaned toward his beloved. “My heart,” he whispered, “look toward the great doors!”

Tzu Hsi looked and she saw six eunuchs bearing a tray of gold so heavy that they had lifted it upon their heads and crouched beneath it. Upon this tray stood the image of a huge peach, gold on one side, red on the other. A peach? It was the symbol of long life.

“Announce my gift to the Fortunate Mother of the Heir!” the Emperor now commanded his brother.

Prince Kung rose. “The gift of the Son of Heaven to the Fortunate Mother of the Heir!”

All rose and bowed, while the eunuchs brought the tray to Tzu Hsi and stood holding it before her.

“Take the peach with your hands,” the Son o£ Heaven now commanded.

She put her hands upon the giant sweet. It split and fell apart. Inside she saw a pair of shoes made of pink satin and embroidered with fine stitches into flowers of gold and silver thread, and in the threads were caught gems of every hue. The heels, high and set in the Manchu fashion beneath the middle of the soles, were studded with pink pearls from India, so closely that the satin was encrusted.

Tzu Hsi lifted brilliant eyes to the face of the Son of Heaven.

“For me, my lord?”

“For you alone,” he said.

It was a daring gift, the symbol of man’s lustful love for woman.

Evil news came up from the south, and soon. Evil enough it had been before, but Yeh, the Viceroy, of the Kwang provinces, held back the worst until the holiday was over. Now he could no longer conceal fresh disaster. He sent couriers by relay on horseback to the capital, saying that the Englishman, Lord Elgin, again made threats to attack the city of Canton, this time with six thousand warriors who waited upon his battle-ships in the harbor at the mouth of the Pearl River. Even were there no Chinese rebels hidden in the city, the Imperial Armies could not have held the gates. Alas, the city was rotten with these rebels who called themselves Christians under the leadership of the madman, Hung, that ignorant and powerful man who declared continually that he was sent by a foreign god named Jesus to overthrow the Manchu throne.

When this desperate news came to the imperial city, Prince Kung received it first and he dared not present it to the Emperor. Since the Heir’s birthday feast the Emperor had not risen from his bed. He had eaten too well and drunk too much and then to quiet his pains he had smoked opium until now he could not tell day from night. Prince Kung sent word therefore to Tzu Hsi, asking audience at once. That same day, an hour after noon, Tzu Hsi went to the Imperial Library and took her seat behind a screen, for Prince Kung did not come alone. With him were the Grand Councilor Su Shun and his ally, Prince Ts’ai, and with them Prince Yi, who was a younger brother of the Son of Heaven, a prince yielding and without wit and less wisdom, but given to envy and peevishness. These four, surrounded at a distance by the eunuchs who followed to serve, now heard the news which Prince Kung read from the scroll upon which the Viceroy had written with his own brush.

“Very grave—very grave,” Su Shun muttered.

He was a tall broad man, his face powerful and coarse, and Tzu Hsi wondered how he could be the father of so delicate a beauty as her favorite, Lady Mei.