Imperial Woman (23 page)

This she said, while secretly she held war as the final weapon. If the invaders came to Shanghai, would it not be proof that only death could end their advance?

The noblemen departed early in the year with these commands and that same spring, as soon as the earth was free of frost, the Emperor commanded that the Taku forts near Tientsin were to be strengthened and to be manned with guns and cannon bought from Americans. This was to be done secretly, so that the English knew nothing of it. Such plans were seeded into his mind in idle hours while Tzu Hsi amused him and made dutiful love to him, and roused him by reading tales and verses from the forbidden books she had found in the eunuchs’ libraries.

What dismay, then, when in early summer couriers brought news from the Emperor’s ministers that the Western men would make no compromise, that once again their ships were sailing northward up the coast far past Shanghai, this time under the Englishman Admiral Hope! But the Court and the commoners of the city declared themselves not afraid. The Taku forts were strong and the imperial soldiers had been promised good reward for bravery. In calm and courage they waited for the attack.

This time, by the help of Heaven, they did indeed repulse the enemy and with such force that three ships of war and more than three hundred of the enemy were destroyed. The Emperor was overjoyed and he praised Tzu Hsi and hearing his praise she encouraged him to refuse everything to the invaders. The treaty was not sealed.

The white men retreated, and peace was proclaimed. The whole nation exclaimed their surprise at the wisdom of the Son of Heaven, who, they declared, had known when to delay and when to make war. Observe, they cried, how easily the invaders were overcome! Yet could they have been so overcome had not the stratagem of delay and compromise persuaded them to false estimates of weakness in the capitol and their own strength? A master of cleverness and wisdom, they declared their Emperor.

Yet all knew who was the Emperor’s advisor. The Empress of the Western Palace was called powerful and magic, her beauty was extolled in private, for it would not have been seemly to speak of it in public, and in the palaces every eunuch and courtier deferred to her smallest wish.

Only Prince Kung was still fearful and he said, “The Western men are tigers who retire when they are wounded and return again to attack.”

He was wrong, it seemed, for a year passed, another strange quiet year. Tzu Hsi deepened her knowledge of books, and the Heir grew strong and willful. He learned to ride his horse, a black Arabian, he loved to sing and laugh and was always in high humor, for everywhere he looked he saw only friendly faces. Serene in her present power, Tzu Hsi felt no fear while she watched her son increase in beauty. The spring grew late, the summer came again, and she made her plans to go to the Summer Palace with her ladies and her son. This year had passed in peace and she could take delight in holiday.

Alas, who could know what was to come? The Court had only just made its summer journey to Yüan Ming Yüan when those warriors of England, without warning and aided and supported by other warriors from France, came roaring in full force up the coast, furious for revenge. In the seventh month of that year, two hundred vessels of war, as if they dropped from the sky, and carrying twenty thousand armed men, landed at the port of Chefoo, in the province of Chihli, and pausing neither for treaty-making nor for bargaining, they prepared instantly to invade the capital.

Couriers ran day and night to bring the black tidings. In the Forbidden City there was no time for reproach or for delay. Kwei Liang, that wise old man, accompanied by other noblemen, was sent to persuade the invaders to stand.

“Make promises,” the frightened Emperor commanded when they came to make farewell obeisance. “Concede and yield! We are outdone!”

Tzu Hsi stood at the Emperor’s side, the place his private audience chamber.

“No, no, my lord,” she cried. “That’s shameful! Do you forget your victory? More soldiers, my lord, more strength—now is the time for battle, my lord!”

He would not hear her. He put out his right arm, suddenly grown strong, and pushed her back. “You hear what I save said,” he told Kwei Liang.

“I hear and obey, Most High,” the old man replied.

With this command he and his escorts entered their mule carts and made haste to Tientsin, for, alas, the invaders had again seized the forts of Taku. But when Kwei Liang was gone, Tzu Hsi, stern with anxiety for her son, in secret used her clinging arms, her coaxing lips and tender eyes, and by such means she made the Emperor uncertain again.

“What if the white men will not be persuaded?” she argued in the night, in the Emperor’s bedchamber. “It is wisdom to be ready to save the lives of our own.” And then she persuaded the Emperor to order Seng-ko-lin-chin, his Mongol general, to lead the Imperial Armies in ambush against the white men. This general belonged to the house of Korchiu princes of Inner Mongolia, favored by the Manchu emperors for their loyalty, and he was called Prince Seng. A brave man, he had by his courage and skill prevented the southern rebels from invading the northern provinces and twice he had slaughtered them in battle, the first time when they were only twenty-four miles from Tientsin, and again he captured them in their retreat in Lien-chin, and he had pursued those remnants who fled into the province of Shantung.

To this invincible man Tzu Hsi now turned. The Emperor yielded, not daring to tell even his brother that he did so, and Prince Seng, receiving the private orders, led his men forthwith into ambush near the Taku forts, determined that he would drive the white men into the sea as he had driven away the rebels. Meanwhile, the English and French emissaries, knowing nothing of the ambush, came forward, they thought, to meet the Imperial Commission under Kwei Liang, their leader bearing a white flag of truce. But this flag Prince Seng took to be the sign of surrender. He summoned his men, who ran forward shouting and raging, and they fell upon the Western contingent and took the two leaders captive, and then seized all who were with them. The flag was torn and stamped into the dust, the captives were imprisoned and put to torture for their boldness in daring to invade the country.

In great joy this good news was carried back to the capital. Once again the Western men were routed. The Emperor praised Tzu Hsi heartily and gave her a gold coffer filled with jewels. Then he announced seven days of feasting in the nation and in the palaces special theatricals were arranged for the enjoyment and relief of the Court, while high honor and rich reward were announced for Prince Seng when he should return to the capital.

The joy was planned too soon, and the feasting and the plays were never finished. When the Western men heard of the treachery done their comrades, they gathered in a solid square for battle and then attacked the Mongol general and his men so strongly that these men were bewildered by such fury and fled, dying as they fell, for they had no foreign guns. The invaders then marched in triumph toward the capital and none stopped them until they came to a certain marble bridge, called Palikao, which crossed the river Peiho, near the small city of Tungchow, but ten miles away from Peking itself. At this bridge they were met by imperial soldiers, sent in haste and distraction by the Emperor, who by now had heard by courier from Prince Seng of the disaster. A battle took place, a sad battle in which the imperial soldiers were altogether routed. They ran back to the capital, crying their own destruction, and were joined by villagers and weeping people who crowded their way into the walls of the capital, hoping that the gates would be quickly barred and they be saved from the fierceness of the foreign enemy. The whole city was soon in turmoil, the people running everywhere and yet not knowing where to run to save themselves. Women and children wailed aloud, men shouted and cursed one another and called upon Heaven to rescue them. Merchants put up the boards of their shop fronts lest invaders loot their goods, and all citizens who had young and beautiful wives and concubines and daughters hastened to leave the city and escape with them into villages and countryside.

In the Summer Palace all was in like confusion. The princes gathered in haste to decide how to save the Throne and the Heir and how to protect the Empresses and the imperial concubines, and they could not decide what to do for none agreed with another, while the Emperor trembled and wept and declared that he would swallow opium.

Prince Kung alone remained himself. He went to the Emperor’s private chambers and found Tzu Hsi there with the Heir, surrounded by eunuchs and courtiers, all protesting the decision of the Emperor to kill himself.

“Ah, you have come,” Tzu Hsi cried when she saw the Prince. What comfort indeed to see this man, his face composed, his garments ordered, his manner calm!

Prince Kung made obeisance and spoke to the Emperor, not as to an elder brother but as to the ruler of the people.

“I dare to give advice to the Son of Heaven,” he said.

“Speak—speak,” the Emperor groaned.

Prince Kung continued. “With such permission I beg to be allowed to write a letter to the leader of the approaching enemy and ask a truce. To this letter I will set the imperial seal.”

Tzu Hsi heard and could not speak. What this Prince had foretold had come to pass. The tiger had returned for revenge. She continued in silence, holding her child in her arms, cheek pressed against his head.

“And you, Sire,” Prince Kung went on, “must escape to Jehol and with you must go the Heir and the two Empresses and the Court.”

“Yes—yes,” the Emperor agreed too eagerly and the ladies and the eunuchs murmured their applause.

At this Tzu Hsi rose from the chair where she sat, and still holding her son in her arms, she cried out against Prince Kung.

“Never should the Emperor leave his capital! What will the people think if he deserts them now? They will yield themselves to the enemy, and be utterly destroyed. Let the Heir be taken away and hidden, but the Son of Heaven must remain, and I will stay at his side to serve him.”

All eyes turned to gaze at her when she spoke. Not one could deny the fire and majesty of her beauty. Prince Kung himself could only pity her.

“Empress,” he said in his gentlest voice, “I must protect you from your own courage. Let the people be told only that the Emperor is going north on a hunting trip to his palaces in Jehol. Let the departure be a few days hence, without haste and in the usual manner. Meanwhile, I will hold the invaders with my plea for a truce and promises to punish the Mongol general.”

She was defeated and she knew it. All were against her, from the Emperor himself to the lowliest eunuch. What could she say? In silence she gave her child to his nurse, and making deep obeisance she withdrew from the imperial hall, her ladies following.

Within five days the Court departed, taking the northwest road toward Mongolia. The city gates were locked against the enemy and bearing their heavy burdens, the long procession of sedans and mule carts set forth on their journey of a hundred miles, a thousand souls in all. Ahead of the imperial array marched Bannermen, carrying their banners of many hues, and behind them came the Imperial Guard on horseback, led by their commander, Jung Lu. The Emperor rode in his curtained palanquin, the color of which was yellow and its frame of gold. Behind him followed the Empress of the Eastern Palace in her own mule cart, and behind her was the Heir with his nurses in his cart. Behind the Heir Tzu Hsi rode alone, for she would allow no one to be with her now. She longed for freedom to weep for hours if she wished, so that she could empty her heart. Ah, what loss was hers! Her spirit was brave but even courage was not enough for this hour. What now would happen? When could she return? Was all lost indeed?

Who could answer? Not even Prince Kung, upon whom the nation depended. He had remained but not in the city inside the locked gates, for he must meet the enemy outside the gates if the worst befell, so that the city itself would be spared. He waited therefore at his own summer palace near Yüan Ming Yüan.

“Gain what you can,” the Emperor had whispered when he crept into his cushioned palanquin. He was ill and weary, and the Chief Eunuch had lifted him this morning in his arms as though he were a child to put him in the cart.

“Trust me, Sire,” Prince Kung had replied.

But Tzu Hsi could not weep forever, even now. Her tears dried at last, she felt listless, and forced to accept her present fate. The hours crept by too slowly, for the road was paved with rough stones and the springless cart tossed her from side to side and the satin cushions could not save her from bruises. Soon the procession halted for the midday meal which couriers had been sent ahead to prepare.

Now Tzu Hsi was still so young that after weeping, when she came down from her mule cart and looked about her, when she saw the fresh green fields, the tall corn, the fruiting trees, she could not keep down her heart. She was alive, her son was clamoring for her, and she reached out her arms for him. All was not lost so long as she lived and he was in her arms. And never had she seen the Northern Palaces of Jehol. Her mind, always lively and ready for fresh adventure, revived at the prompting of her heart.

At this moment her glance chanced to fall upon Lady Mei, standing near. They smiled, and the lady ventured to make some cheerful talk.

“Venerable, I hear the Northern Palaces are the most beautiful of all the imperial places.”

“I, too, have heard it,” Tzu Hsi replied. “Let us enjoy them since we must go there.”

Yet later, when she was about to enter her mule cart to take up the journey again, she looked backward to the city, her eyes involuntary and following the direction of her heart. There upon the edge of sky and land she saw a mass of darkening smoke. She cried out, alarmed, to those around her:

“Can it be our city is afire?”

All looked and all saw the black, curling clouds mounting against the deep blue sky of midsummer. The city was on fire.

“Haste—haste!” the Emperor cried from his palanquin and all made haste to climb into carts and the procession went on with fresh speed.