Finally, on the fifty-eighth day after my arrival in the Forbidden City, Emperor Hsien Feng summoned me. I could hardly believe my ears when An-te-hai brought me His Majesty’s invitation, asking me to join him at an opera.
I studied the invitation. Hsien Feng’s signature and stamp were grand and beautiful. I kept the card under my pillow and touched it over and over before I went to sleep. The next morning I got up before dawn. I sat through the makeup and dressing ritual feeling alive and excited. I imagined myself being appreciated by His Majesty. By sunrise everything was set. I prayed that my beauty would bring me luck.
An-te-hai told me that Emperor Hsien Feng would send a palanquin. I waited, burning with anxiety. An-te-hai described where I would be going and whom I would be meeting. He pointed out that theatrical performances had been a favorite royal pastime for generations. They had been most popular during the early Ch’ing Dynasty, in the 1600s. Grand stages were built in royal villas. In the Summer Palace alone, where I would be going today, there were four stages. The grandest one was three stories high. It was called the Grand Changyi Magnificent-Sound Stage.
According to An-te-hai, performances were held each Lunar New Year’s Day and on the birthdays of the Emperor and Empress. The performances were never less than extravaganzas, usually lasting from early morning till late into the night. The Emperor invited princes and high officials, and it was considered a great honor to be asked. On the eightieth birthday of Emperor Chien Lung, ten operas were performed. The most popular performance was The Monkey King. The character of Monkey had been adapted from a classic Ming Dynasty novel. The Emperor loved the opera so much that he exhausted every variation of the story. It was the longest opera ever produced, lasting ten days. The presentation of an imaginary Heaven mirroring humanity’s earthbound existence cast a spell over the audience, not broken until the very end. Even then, it was said that some desired the troupe to immediately repeat certain scenes.
I asked An-te-hai if those in the royal family were truly knowledgeable or merely enthusiastic fans.
“Most of them, I would say, have been false experts,” he replied, “except Emperor Kang Hsi, Hsien Feng’s great-great-grandfather. According to the book of records, Kang Hsi oversaw scripts and musical scores, and Chien Lung supervised the writing of quite a few librettos. Most people, however, come for the food and the privilege of sitting with His Majesty. Of course it is always important to demonstrate a cultured sensibility. It is fashionable to exhibit one’s taste in a culture of delicacy.”
“Would anyone dare to show off his knowledge with the Emperor present?” I asked.
“There is always one who doesn’t understand that others will consider him a ringdove doing a somersault—showing his fancy behind.”
An-te-hai told a story to give me an example. It took place in the Forbidden City during the reign of Emperor Yung Cheng. The Emperor was enjoying a performance, a story about a small-town governor who overcame his weakness and set his spoiled son straight by punishing him. The actor who played the governor was so accomplished that the Emperor granted him a private audience after the per-formance. The man was rewarded with taels and gifts, and His Majesty was lavish with his praise. The actor got carried away and asked if His Majesty knew the real name of the governor in history.
“‘How dare you ask questions!’” An-te-hai mimicked the Emperor, his right hand giving a flourish to an imaginary dragon robe. “‘Have you forgotten who you are? If I allow myself to be challenged by a beggar like you, how would I run the country?’” An edict was issued and the actor was dragged out and beaten to death in his costume.
The story made me see the true face of the splendid Forbidden City. I doubted that the execution of the foolish actor benefited the image of His Majesty. Such punishment achieved nothing but terror, and terror only increased the distance between the Emperor and the hearts of his people. Terror would bring him the greatest loss in the end. Who would stay with you down the road if all you were known for was instilling fear?
In retrospect, the story must have influenced my actions in a rather minor incident that occurred during my reign, an incident of which I was particularly proud. I was seated in the Grand Changyi Magnificent-Sound Stage celebrating my sixtieth birthday. The opera was called The Yu-Tang Hall. The renowned actor Mr. Chen Yi-chew was playing the character Miss Shoo. He was singing, Coming to the judge’s hall I look up / On both sides stand executioners carrying arm’s-length knives / I am like a sheep finding herself in a lion’s mouth … But at the word “sheep” Chen suddenly stopped. He realized that my birth sign was a sheep, and that if he went on to finish his line, others might think that he was cursing me. Chen tried to swallow the word, but it was too late—everybody had already heard it, for it was a famous opera and the lyrics were well known. The poor man attempted to rescue himself by manipulating the syllable “sheep.” He dragged his voice and held the tail sound until he completely exhausted his breath. The orchestra was confused and the drummers beat their instruments to cover the flaw. Then Chen Yi-chew proved himself to be a veteran of the stage—he came up with a line on the spot, which replaced “a sheep finding herself in a lion’s mouth” with “a fish ending up in the fisherman’s net.”
Before the court had a chance to report that an “accident” had taken place and the actor must be punished, I praised Chen for his brilliance. Of course nobody mentioned the changing of the lyrics. In memory of my kindness, the artist decided to keep the new line forever in his text. In today’s Yu-Tang Hall you will find “a fish ending up in the fisherman’s net” instead of “a sheep finding herself in a lion’s mouth.”
• • •
As we continued to wait for His Majesty’s palanquin, I asked An-te-hai what type of opera was popular in the Forbidden City.
“The Peking opera.” An-te-hai’s eyes brightened. “Its main melodies have been drawn from the Kun and Yiyang operas. Each emperor or empress has had his or her favorite. Opera styles evolve over time, but the librettos remain mostly Kun.”
I asked him what the royal family’s favorite operas were and hoped that there would be one I knew.
“Romance of the Spring and Autumn.” An-te-hai counted with his fingers. “The Beauty from Shang Dynasty, Literature of Peacetime, A Boy Wonder Who Wins the Imperial Examination, The Battle of Iron Bannermen …” He named close to thirty operas.
I asked An-te-hai which one might be performed today. His guess was The Battle of Iron Bannermen. “It is Emperor Hsien Feng’s favorite,” he explained. “His Majesty doesn’t care much for classics. He thinks they’re boring. He prefers those that contain lots of martial-arts and acrobatic skills.”
“Does the Grand Empress enjoy the same?”
“Oh, no. Her Majesty favors stylized voices and star actors. She takes opera lessons herself and is considered an expert. There is a possibility that Emperor Hsien Feng will be in the mood to please his mother. I have heard that Nuharoo has worked him toward thoughts of piety. His Majesty might order the troupe to play the Grand Empress’s favorite, Happy Time for Ten Thousand Years.”
An-te-hai’s mention of Nuharoo with Emperor Hsien Feng stirred my thoughts and roused my jealousy. I didn’t like myself to be small-hearted, but I couldn’t help my feelings. I wondered how other concubines were coping with their envy. Had they shared the bed with Hsien Feng yet?
“Tell me about your dreams, An-te-hai.” I sat down. I had a sudden realization that the road to salvation was inaccessible. Despair seeped through me. I felt I had been pushed into a sealed room where my breathing became difficult. It was not true that I would be happy once my stomach was full. I couldn’t escape who I was, a woman who sensed that she lived to love. Being an Imperial wife offered me everything but that.
The eunuch threw himself on the floor and begged for forgiveness. “You are upset, my lady, I can tell. Have I said something wrong? Punish me, for anger will ruin Your Majesty’s health.”
The feeling of an underdog ca
me over me. My frustration turned into sadness. Where would I go from here? But I still want to try to grow tomatoes in August, although it is too late, a voice inside my head sang.
“You have said nothing wrong,” I said to An-te-hai. “Now let’s hear your dreams.”
After he made sure that I was not upset with him, the eunuch began. “I have two dreams, my lady. But the chance of realizing them is like catching a live fish in boiling water.”
“Describe the dreams.”
“My first dream is to get my member back.”
“Member?”
“I know exactly who owns my penis and where he stores it,” An-te-hai said. As he spoke, he turned into a young man I had never seen. His eyes were full of light and his cheeks flushed. There was a strangeness to his voice. It was charged with hope and determination.
“The man who butchered me has collected a lot of penises. He keeps them in jars of preservative and hides them away. He is waiting for us to find success so he can sell the penises back to us for a fortune. I want to be buried in one piece when I die, my lady. All eunuchs do. If I don’t get buried in one piece, I will come back handicapped in the next life.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“What about your other dream?”
“My other dream is to honor my parents. I want to show them that I have succeeded. My parents have fourteen children. Eight of them died of hunger. My grandmother, who raised me, never had a full meal in her life. I don’t know if I will ever see her again … She is very sick and I miss her terribly.” An-te-hai made an effort to smile while trying to hold back his tears. “You see, my lady, I am a squirrel with a dragon’s ambition.”
“That’s what I like about you, An-te-hai. I wish my brother Kuei Hsiang had your kind of ambition.”
“I am flattered, my lady.”
“I suppose you know my dream by now,” I said.
“A little, my lady. I dare to admit that.”
“It seems as unreachable as yours, doesn’t it?”
“Patience and faith, my lady.”
“But Emperor Hsien Feng hasn’t called me to his bed. And I am beyond pain and shame.” I didn’t bother to wipe my tears, which were streaming down my cheeks. “I have made my way into the Forbidden City, but it feels like there’s never been a greater distance between my bed and His Majesty’s. I don’t know what to do.”
“You are getting thinner each day, my lady. It hurts me to see you pushing your dinner away.”
“An-te-hai, tell me, what do you see me turning into?”
“Isn’t it a blossoming peony, my lady?”
“It was. But I am withering, and soon spring will vanish and the peony will be dead.”
“There is another way to look at it, my lady.”
“Show me.”
“Well, to me, you are no dead flower but rather a camel.”
“Camel?”
“Have you ever heard of the saying ‘A dead camel is bigger than a live horse’?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you still have a better chance than the smaller people.”
“But the truth is that I have nothing.”
“You have me.” On his knees, he came near. He raised his eyes and stared at me.
“You? What can you do?”
“I can find out which concubines have shared the bed with His Majesty and how they got there.”
Eight
THE FIRST THING that caught my eye at the Grand Changyi Magnificent-Sound Stage was not Emperor Hsien Feng, or his guests, or the fabulous opera sets and actors in costume. It was the diadem on Nuharoo’s head, which was made of pearls, coral and kingfisher feathers in the pattern of the character shou, longevity. I had to look away in order to keep the smile on my face.
I was ushered through a heavily guarded gate and hallway and then entered the open theater, which was in a courtyard. The seats were already filled. The audience dressed magnificently. Eunuchs and ladies in waiting walked up and down the aisles carrying teapots, cups and food trays. The opera had begun, gongs and chimes rang out, but the crowd had not quieted down. Later I would learn that it was customary for the audience to continue talking during the performance. I found this distracting, but it was the Imperial tradition.
I looked around. Emperor Hsien Feng was sitting next to Nuharoo in the center of the first row. Both he and Nuharoo were in Imperial yellow silk robes embroidered with dragon and phoenix motifs. His diadem was crowned by a large Manchurian pearl, and it had a silver inlay of trapped ribbons and tassels. His chin strap was made of sable.
Hsien Feng watched the performance with great interest. Nuharoo sat elegantly, but her attention was not on the stage. She glanced around without turning her neck. On her right side sat our mother-in-law, the Grand Empress. She was in a vermilion silk robe embroidered with blue and purple butterflies. The Grand Empress’s makeup was more dramatic than that of the actors onstage. Her eyebrows were painted so dark and thick that they looked like two pieces of charcoal. Her jaws rocked from side to side as she chewed nuts. Her painted red mouth reminded me of a spoiled persimmon. Like a broom, her eyes swept back and forth over the audience. Behind her were the Imperial daughters-in-law, Ladies Yun, Li, Mei and Hui. All gorgeously dressed, they sat stone-faced. In the back and on the sides sat the royal princes, their families and other guests.
Chief Eunuch Shim came to greet me. I apologized for being late, even though it was not my fault—the palanquin had failed to arrive on time. He told me that as long as I made it to my seat without disturbing my husband and mother-in-law, I would be all right. “His Majesty never truly demands his concubines’ presence,” Shim said. It made me realize with crushing disappointment that I was only there out of formality.
Chief Eunuch Shim helped me into my seat between Lady Li and Lady Mei. I apologized for distracting them, and they politely returned my bows, saying nothing.
We turned our attention to the opera. It was called The Three Battles Between the Monkey King and the White Fox. I was struck by the talent of the actors, who Lady Mei told me were eunuchs. I was especially taken by the White Fox. “Her” voice was unique and beautiful and “her” dancing so sensuous that I forgot that she was a he. To attain this level of skill and flexibility the actors must have started their training when they were young children.
The performance was reaching its moment of action. The monkeys displayed their acrobatic skills. Spinning and somersaulting, the Monkey King executed a flip over the smaller monkeys’ shoulders. At the end he threw himself high into the air and then landed smoothly on a tree branch, a prop made of painted wood.
The crowd cheered.
The Monkey King hopped onto a cloud, a board hung from the ceiling by ropes. A large white cloth, which represented the heavenly waterfall, was thrown up, the cloud was lifted, and the actor made his exit.
“Shang! Tip him! Shang!” Emperor Hsien Feng clapped and yelled.
The crowd followed, shouting, “Shang! Shang!! Shang!!!”
Hsien Feng’s head rocked like a merchant’s drum. With each beat of the gong he kicked his feet, laughing. “Excellent!” he shouted, pointing at the actors. “You’ve got balls! Great balls!”
Plates of nuts and seasonal dishes were passed by the Grand Em-press. Not having eaten since the previous evening, I helped myself to berry buns, dates, sweet beans and nuts. I seemed to be the only lady who truly enjoyed the opera besides the Grand Empress. The rest of the ladies looked bored. Nuharoo struggled to appear interested. Lady Li yawned and Lady Mei chatted with Lady Hui.
As if to rouse her daughters-in-law, the Grand Empress handed out paper fans.
We got up and bowed in Her Majesty’s direction and then sat back down and opened our fans.
It was time for the action scene. The monkeys were led by their king on all fours as they circled their enemy, the dying White Fox, who sang to the audience:
If you will
take advice, my friend,
For wealth you will not care.
But while fresh youth is in you
Each precious moment spare.
When flowers are fit for culling
Pluck them as you may.
Ah! Wait not till the bloom be gone
To bear a twig away.
The audience clapped at the singing, and Lady Yun got up. I assumed she needed to go to the chamber pot. But something about her movement caught my eye. She was twisting her bottom, and her belly seemed slightly swollen.
She’s pregnant! Nuharoo, Li, Mei, Hui and the others all uttered the same phrase.
After a hard stare, Nuharoo turned away. She picked up her fan and rocked her wrist ferociously. The rest of the Imperial wives did the same.
My mood turned dark. Nuharoo’s diadem and Lady Yun’s belly were like two burning rods stuck in my skin.
Emperor Hsien Feng did not even bother to say hello to me. He got up and left at intermission. I watched him exit, followed by eunuchs and ladies in waiting carrying washbasins, spittoons, fans, cracker dishes, soup pots and trays.
Chief Eunuch Shim told us that our husband would be back shortly. We waited, but His Majesty did not return. The crowd turned its attention back to the opera. My mind was like a pot boiling with dead thoughts. I sat till the end, my ears buzzing with the sound of drums.
The Grand Empress was pleased with the performance. “This is much better than the original Monkey King!” she said to the troupe leader. “The old version put me to sleep. But this one made me laugh and cry.” She praised the acting and told Shim to loosen his money belt.
Her Majesty asked to meet with the leading actors, the young men who played the Monkey King and the White Fox. The actors came from backstage with their makeup still on. Their faces looked like they had been dipped in soy sauce.