The Last Empress (27 page)

"You received all the delegates?" I asked.

Guang-hsu nodded. "Russia, France, England and Germany acted like dogs. They tried to make me commit to borrowing more money. What could I do? I told them China couldn't afford it anymore. I told them that all my revenues go to pay the Japanese indemnity."

The foreign bankers were savage dealmakers, I remembered Li Hung-chang once told me. "What happened in the end?"

"In the end? I borrowed from all of them, pledging my customs revenue and transit and salt taxes as security."

The pain in his voice was unbearable. I felt helpless and tremendously sad.

"I am unprepared for what's coming." My son sighed again. "The Russians continue to transport troops and supplies by our railway across Manchuria to the sea."

"We granted them the right only in times of war, not in times of peace." I could hear the weariness in my own voice.

Guang-hsu shook his head. "The Russians are determined to keep their Trans-Siberian running in times of peace as well, Mother."

Stepping out on the terrace for fresh air, I held my son's shoulders. "Let's hope Li's scheme of using one barbarian to control another will work."

Guang-hsu was not sure. "Japan is approaching Peking," he said, "and we have lost our sea defense completely."

I stood in the wind and tried to get through the moment.

For my son, each day brought another decision, another defeat, another humiliation. He had been living in a manure pit. Tung Chih had been lucky: death had helped him to reach peace.

Darkness filled the room after Li Lien-ying retreated. I lay against soft pillows and recalled that once Li Hung-chang had advised me to deposit gold and silver in banks outside China.

"In case Japan..." I remembered that he was afraid to say more, but I got the idea: I might be forced to flee China. The image of Queen Min burned alive was never far from my thoughts.

Li Hung-chang must have assumed that I was a wealthy woman. He had no idea how penniless I was. I was too embarrassed to let anyone know that I had sold my favorite opera troupe. I owned practically nothing but my seven honorary Imperial titles. Li hadn't insisted on having me consult the English bank managers in Hong Kong and Shanghai. But when he left my palace, he was no longer confused—he understood more than ever where I stood in terms of China's survival.

Guang-hsu and I had expected that the Western powers would cease their aggression after the deals were executed, but in May of 1897 Germany found another excuse to attack us. The incident began when Chinese bandits robbed a village in Shantung near the port of Kiaochow, a German settlement. Houses were burned and the inhabitants were murdered, along with two Roman Catholic German missionaries.

Before our government had a chance to investigate, a German squadron proceeded to Kiaochow and seized the port. China was threatened with the severest repression unless it instantly agreed to pay compensation in gold and prosecute the bandits.

The Kaiser made sure that his protest was heard by the world: "I am fully determined to abandon henceforth the overcautious policy which had been regarded by the Chinese as weakness, and to show the Chinese, with full power and, if necessary, with brutal ruthlessness, that the German Emperor cannot be made sport of and that it is bad to have him as an enemy."

Four days later, my son came to me with the news that the Chinese garrison of Kiaochow had been routed. After its capture, Guang-hsu was forced to lease the port and the land around it, in a fifty-kilometer
radius, from Germany. The ninety-nine-year lease came with exclusive mining and railway rights in the area.

Guang-hsu had trembled as he listened to Li Hung-chang describe what would happen if he refused to sign.

In the next few months, Li would bring more bad news: Russian warships sailed into fortified Port Arthur, as they were allowed to by the treaty of 1896, and announced that they had come to stay for good. By March of 1898, Port Arthur and the nearby merchant port of Talien-wan were likewise leased to Russia, for twenty-five years, with all mining and railway rights for sixty miles around.

Joining the fray, the British prime minister claimed that "the balance of power in the Gulf of Pechili has now been upset." England demanded that Weihaiwei, which was on the same spur as Kiaochow, controlled by the Germans, "be handed over to the British as soon as the Japanese indemnity had been paid and the town had been evacuated." The British also granted themselves an increase in the area of Kowloon, on the mainland opposite Hong Kong.

Not wanting to be left behind, France demanded a similar ninety-nine-year lease on the port of Kwangchowan, south of Hong Kong.

When the court pleaded for the Emperor to take control of the situation, Guang-hsu handed each minister a copy of what he had received from Li Hung-chang. It was an announcement made by the united Western powers regarding the "spheres of influence" in China. Germany and Russia had agreed that the entire Yangtze basin from Szechuan to the delta at Kiangsu was British. Britain agreed that southern Canton and southern Yunnan were French. A belt from Kausu through Shensi, Shansi, Hunan and Shantung was German. Manchuria and Chihli were Russian. The freedom-loving United States secured equal rights and opportunities for all nations in the leased areas and termed their attitude "the Open-Door Policy."

I had no idea that I would be meeting with Prince Kung for the last time. It was a gloomy overcast day in May 1898 when I received his invitation. Although he had been ill, he was a man of robust health and spirits, and everyone expected him to recover. When I arrived at his bedside, I was taken aback by his condition and knew instantly that his life was coming to an end.

"I hope you don't mind that the dying fish keeps making bubbles," Prince Kung said in a weak voice.

I asked if he would like me to bring the Emperor.

Prince Kung shook his head and closed his eyes to gather energy.

I looked around. There were cups, bowls, spittoons and basins arranged around the bed. The smell of herbal medicine in the room was unpleasant.

Prince Kung tried to sit up, but he no longer had the strength. "Sixth brother," I said, helping him up, "you shouldn't have hidden your condition."

"It's Heaven's will, sister-in-law," Prince Kung gasped. "I am glad I caught you in time."

He raised his right hand and stuck up two trembling fingers.

I drew closer.

"First, I am sorry for Tung Chih's death." Remorse filled Prince Kung's voice. "I know how you suffered ... I apologize. My son Tsai-chen deserved his end."

"Stop it, sixth brother." Tears came to my eyes.

"I never forgave Tsai-chen, and he knew it," Prince Kung said.

But it was himself he wouldn't forgive. I never had the heart to ask how Prince Kung got through the days after his son died.

"Pity the hearts of parents," I said, passing him a towel.

"I owed much to Hsien Feng." Prince Kung wiped his face with the towel. "I failed in my duty. I let Tung Chih down, and now I have to quit on Guang-hsu."

"You didn't owe Hsien Feng anything. He wrote you out of his will. If there was any duty regarding how to raise and influence Tung Chih, Hsien Feng left the power to Su Shun and his gang."

Prince Kung had to agree with what I said, although he had chosen to believe that it was Su Shun, and not his brother, who manipulated the Imperial will.

Exhausted, he closed his eyes again as if going to sleep. Looking at the prince's sallow face, I remembered the days when he was strong, handsome and full of zest. His dreams for China were great, and so was his talent. Once I had even fantasized that I had married him instead of Emperor Hsien Feng.

I suppose I had always believed that Kung would have made a better emperor. He should have been given the throne—and would have been but for the wiles of Hsien Feng's grand tutor, who counseled his student to pretend compassion toward the animals of the autumn hunt. Prince Kung outcompeted all his brothers that day, but his father was moved by the younger son's heart. It was a misfortune for the country that the crown went to Hsien Feng. And misfortune bred misfortune.

I wondered whether Prince Kung resented living in the shadow of Hsien Feng, knowing that he had been betrayed.

"If you have a question, you'd better ask before it is too late," Prince Kung said when he opened his eyes again.

The thought of losing him was unbearable. "I don't think you want to know the question I have," I said. "I don't think it is even decent for me to ask."

"Orchid, we have been each other's best friend and worst curse." Prince Kung smiled. "What more can come between us?"

So I asked if he resented his father's unfairness and his brother's theft of the kingdom.

"If I had any resentment, my own guilt took away the sting," he replied. "Do you remember September of 1861?"

"The month Hsien Feng died?"

"Yes. Remember the deal we made? It was a good deal, wasn't it?"

Back then, when we were in our twenties, we didn't know that we were making history. Prince Kung found out that he had been written out of Hsien Feng's will. He was left helpless for Su Shun to slaughter. And I faced the possibility of being buried alive, to accompany my husband on his journey to the next life.

"Su Shun had both of us in a corner," I said.

"Was it you or I who first came up with the idea of lending each other the legitimacy?" he asked.

"I can't recall. I only remember that we had no option but to help each other."

"It was you who drafted my appointment as Su Shun's replacement," Prince Kung said.

"Did I?"

"Yes. It was audacious—and unthinkable."

"You deserved the title," I said softly. "It should have been Heaven's will in the first place."

"I am guilty because it wasn't what my father and my brother Hsien Feng intended."

"The dynasty wouldn't be where it is without you," I insisted.

"In that case, I'd like to thank you for the opportunity, Orchid."

"You are a good partner, although you can be difficult."

"Can you forgive me for Tung Chih's death?"

"You loved him, Kung, and that is what I will remember."

The second thing Prince Kung wanted was my promise to continue to honor Robert Hart, a man he had worked with closely over the years.

"He is the most precious connection China will ever have. Our future place in the world depends on his help." Kung was sure that the court would not follow his instructions once he died. "I am afraid that they will drive Robert Hart away."

"I will see that Li Hung-chang follows your path," I promised.

"I couldn't get the court to grant Hart a private audience," Prince Kung said. "Will you receive him?"

"Does his rank allow me?"

"His rank is high enough, but he is not Chinese," Kung said bitterly. "The ministers are jealous of him because I relied on him for so much. He is resented not because he is English, but because he can't be bought."

Prince Kung and I both wished that we had more men of Robert Hart's character.

"I heard that he was honored in England by the Queen. Is that true?" I asked.

Prince Kung nodded. "The Queen made him a knight, but she cares far more about Hart's achievement in opening China for England than his rank."

"I will never take Robert Hart for granted," I promised.

"Hart loves China. He has been tolerant and has put up with the court's disrespect. I fear that his patience will soon run out and he will quit. China is absolutely dependent on Hart's leadership. We would lose a third of our customs revenue, and ... our dynasty..."

I did not know how to carry on Prince Kung's work. I had no way to communicate with Robert Hart, nor was I confident of convincing the court of his vital importance.

"I can't do it without you, sixth brother." I wept.

Kung's doctor hovered nearby and told me that I'd better leave.

The prince looked relieved when he waved goodbye to me.

I returned the next day and was told that Prince Kung had been drifting in and out of consciousness. A few days later he went into a coma.

On May 22, he died.

I helped to arrange a simple funeral for Prince Kung, as he had requested. The throne personally notified Robert Hart of his friend's passing.

It was hard for me to let go of Prince Kung. The day after his burial, I dreamed of his return. He was with Hsien Feng. Both men looked to be twenty again. Prince Kung wore purple, and my husband was dressed in his white satin robe.

"To live is to experience dying and is worse than death," my husband said in his usual depressed tone.

"True," Prince Kung said, "but 'living death' can also be interpreted as 'spiritual wealth.'"

I followed them in my nightgown as they talked to each other. I understood the words, but not their meanings.

"The understanding of suffering enables the sufferer to walk on the path of immortality," my husband went on. "Immortality means the ability to bear the unbearable."

Prince Kung agreed. "Only after experiencing death can one understand the pleasure of living."

Still in the realm of dreams, I interrupted them. "But there is no
pleasure in my living. To live means only to die over and over. The pain has become impossible to bear. It is like a continuous punishment, a lingering death."

"Dying over and over gives you the rapture of being alive," my husband said.

Before I could argue, both men faded. In their place I saw a very old woman squatting on her heels in the corner of a large, dark room. It was myself. I was in servant's clothes and I looked sick. My body had shrunk to the size of a child. My skin was deeply wrinkled and my hair gray and white.

Reform has been on my mind," Emperor Guang-hsu confessed. "It is the only way to save China." Over breakfast in the Forbidden City he told me he had found a "like-mind," a man whom he much admired. "But the court has rejected my meeting with him."

This was the first time I heard the name Kang Yu-wei, a scholar and self-proclaimed reformer from Canton. I found out that the reason for the court's rejection was that Kang Yu-wei had neither a government position nor any rank. In fact, he had failed the national civil service examination three times.