In the spring of 1901, the Emperor and I gave permission for Li Hung-chang to accept the terms. There were no words to describe my shame and pain. At the same time, I learned that Li had been gravely ill, so ill that he had to be helped by servants to the negotiating table. Li did not reveal until then what would have upset me the most: that the Allies had originally required that I step down as the head of the government and restore the rule of Emperor Guang-hsu; that all of China's revenues be collected by foreign ministers; and that Chinese military affairs be overseen by foreigners.
"What I have achieved is hardly any bargain," Li's memorandum read. "The reason I pushed the signing was because I'm afraid that my time is running out. It would be regrettable if I died before completing the mission that Your Majesty had entrusted me with."
On September 7, 1901, after bringing China to its knees, the Allies signed the peace agreement. I would suffer eternal torment, for China was forced to apologize to Germany and Japan, which meant enormous indemnities and surrendering natural resources. China was ordered to destroy its own defensive facilities and had to accept a permanent foreign military presence in Peking.
44
On the morning of October 6, the Allies began to withdraw from Peking and I was able to depart Sian for home. Our procession would travel seven hundred miles on the return journey. After nearly a year of exile, every effort was made to regain face. There would be no sleeping rough this time. Guang-hsu and I each rode in our own covered carriages decorated with flags and banners. We were surrounded by cavalrymen in brilliant silk. Provincial governors were notified of our passing and made sure that every inch of road was cleared of stones. In a ceremony to chase away bad spirits, eunuchs walked ahead and swept the roads and sprinkled yellow chalk to invite favorable spirits. Wherever we stopped for a rest or for the night, banquets were held. The court toasted its luck in surviving the deadly ordeal.
Yet I couldn't help but feel bitter.
China had been given a good kicking, and the burden of huge debts would keep us on our knees indefinitely. But according to Li Hung-chang, it wasn't the mercy of the Western powers that had mitigated their demands. What stayed their hand was the idea that China would someday be a vast economic market. Their business sense told them not to plant the seed of hatred in the hearts of the Chinese people—their future customers—or to destroy China's ability to buy foreign goods. My government was merely a useful tool, especially when the foreign powers considered the likelihood that Guang-hsu would be restored as a puppet emperor.
Guang-hsu had never said that he wanted to step down, but his actions spoke of his wishes. He was a prisoner inside his own palanquin. My sense was that he felt so trapped he didn't bother to look for a way out.
I tried talking to him about starting the process of changing our government into a republic. I began with "As you can see, our efforts have made little difference."
Guang-hsu's response was "It's all up to you, Mother."
"But I'd like to know what you think," I insisted.
"I don't know what I think," he said. "The biggest thing I've learned by being the Emperor of China is that I don't know anything."
It's easy to play dead—I had to force the words back down my throat.
"Becoming a republic will make you more powerful than you are now." I took a breath and went on. "The empire of Japan thrived, and so can China."
My son gave me a tired look and sighed.
Going back and forth from the capital, Yung Lu was eager to discuss the candidate who would run the proposed parliament.
"I am not considering others when Li Hung-chang and you are holding up the sky," I said to him. "Isn't your new title Prime Minister of China?"
"Yes, for the moment. But I'd like to remind Your Majesty that Li Hung-chang and I are in our seventies and in ill health."
"All three of us are in that boat, I'm afraid."
We smiled at each other, and I asked whom he had in mind.
"Yuan Shih-kai," Yung Lu said. "Li Hung-chang and I have gone over the choices and it boils down to him."
Of course I was familiar with Yuan Shih-kai, who had recently come to my aid on our retreat into exile. He had built his name in the southwest during the Sino-French War. After returning from Indochina, he was appointed by Li to take over the Northern Army as its youngest commander in chief. Yuan was known for his no-nonsense training style. A few years later, when Yung Lu combined his forces with the Northern Army and created the New Army, Yuan was appointed as its commander in chief.
Yuan Shih-kai had proved his loyalty by saving my life during the chaos of the Hundred Days reform. He was promoted to the post of senior governor and oversaw key provinces while keeping his military role. Working closely with Li Hung-chang and Yung Lu, Yuan had learned from the masters.
A recent event had also made Yuan Shih-kai a household name in China. According to the terms of the treaty agreement, China was not allowed a military presence in the greater Peking area. Humiliation aside, the stipulation made those who supposedly held the reins of power feel at once vulnerable and vaguely ridiculous.
Yuan studied the treaty and international law and came up with the idea of establishing a Chinese police force. "There is nothing in the agreement that says China can't have its own law enforcement," he stated in his proposal.
Within weeks of my granting permission, Yuan Shih-kai dressed his army as policemen—they looked like British bobbies. In their smart uniforms his men patrolled the coasts and marched around the legations in Peking. The mean-spirited foreign journalists couldn't say a word about it.
Because of Yuan Shih-kai, I could now sleep.
When the homecoming procession arrived at a town near Tientsin, I boarded a train, still a novelty for me. The locomotive pulled twenty-one shining carriages, which had been presented to the nation by Yuan Shih-kai. "Moving rooms," Li Lien-ying called them. My carriage had silk-draped walls, soft-cushioned sofas and a built-in porcelain basin with hot and cold water taps. The car even had its own toilet.
Although Guang-hsu did not give his opinion regarding Yuan Shih-kai's leadership of the parliament, he understood that we were not choosing him because he was a personal friend. Yuan's passion for China's prosperity was what mattered. Already we had been relying on him to execute our edicts.
I witnessed my son's struggle with himself—logic battling his feelings. Often Guang-hsu's dark moods would return. "I'd rather die than support that traitor," he would say. He would break dishes and kick his chair.
"It is a matter of making use of a talent," I said to him. "You can replace him if you find a better person."
When I learned that Yung Lu had fainted on his way to join us in Tientsin, I sent a message wishing him renewed health and requesting that he come as soon as he was able. The moment Yung Lu entered my private car, accompanied by his doctor, he smiled and said, "I got kicked out by the god of death!" He tried to sound as if he had never been sick. "Maybe it was because I hadn't eaten and Hell wouldn't accept a hungry ghost."
"Don't you dare abandon me." I could not hold back my tears.
"Well, I wasn't notified when my body decided to quit."
"How are you feeling?"
"I am fine. But my chest whistles like a wind harp."
"It's your lungs."
He nodded. "In any case, it makes the issue of my replacement urgent. You need both Li Hung-chang's and my help to persuade the court to accept Yuan Shih-kai."
"But Guang-hsu hates him."
Yung Lu sighed. "Yes, I know."
"And Li Hung-chang hasn't sent in Yuan's confirmation," I said. "Has he any reservations?"
"Li is concerned about Yuan's loyalty after I'm gone. He believes that Yuan Shih-kai is not likely to serve a lesser mind."
"Guang-hsu? How dare he!"
"Well, perhaps not a lesser mind but a less-driven mind. The Emperor doesn't inspire, and he doesn't care."
I could not disagree. "It's my misfortune." I sighed. "But
he is my son."
"How can Guang-hsu expect Yuan's loyalty?" Yung Lu asked. "Yuan Shih-kai has our vote because of what he can do for China. But once you are gone, Yuan could stop considering China your son's China."
"Is this Li Hung-chang's fear as well?"
Yung Lu nodded.
"What should I do?"
"It's up to Guang-hsu to let Yuan Shih-kai know who the Emperor is."
The moment my train pulled into Peking's Paoting Station I was given the news that Li Hung-chang had died.
The band that greeted the train was in the middle of playing a gay tune when the messenger fell at my feet. I had to make the man repeat what he had said three times. My mind went blank as I struggled to hold my composure.
"Li Hung-chang is not dead!" I kept saying. "He can't die!"
Li Lien-ying held my arms to keep me from collapsing. The Manchu Dynasty as I knew it had ended.
"Yuan Shih-kai is here to see Her Majesty," someone announced.
Yuan appeared in front of me in a white mourning gown. He confirmed the news. "The viceroy had been sick," he said in a confident tone. "He forced himself to go on until the negotiations were completed."
"Why wasn't I informed earlier that his condition was critical?" I asked.
"The viceroy didn't want you to know. He said you would stop him from working if you were told."
Sitting on my makeshift throne, I asked if the Emperor had been notified and if Li Hung-chang had left any requests for me. Yuan Shih-kai replied that the viceroy had made several arrangements before his death, including that S. S. Huan take over the funding of the military.
I had no memory of when Yuan Shih-kai left. Yung Lu came in and said that he was delivering his friend Li Hung-chang's last wishes. It was his final confirmation of Yuan Shih-kai as his successor.
It seemed that besides me, only the Western powers had realized that Li Hung-chang had been the true boss of China. Li had been the one who protected and provided for the Manchu Dynasty, and his loyalty had sustained me.
I didn't have to use my imagination to know that the arduous negotiations had killed Li Hung-chang. He had fought for inches and pennies for China. It was too easy to accuse him of being a traitor. He had endured degradation and humiliation. The transcripts of the daily negotiations demonstrated his courage. Perhaps only future generations would recognize and appreciate his true value. Li Hung-chang went into the negotiations knowing that he had nothing to bargain with and that suffering would be part of any deal.
"My country is being raped" was his first response after being presented with drafts of the treaties drawn up by the foreign powers. "When a sheep is cornered by a pack of wolves, will the wolves allow the sheep to negotiate? Will the sheep help decide how she should be eaten?"
Li Hung-chang was a master of business, and his skillful bargaining had saved his country but cost him his life. "Carving up China means creating a nation of new Boxers," he pointed out to the foreigners when they threatened to abandon negotiations. "Calling on Her Majesty to step down makes for a bad business deal because everyone in China will tell you that it is the Dowager Empress, not the Emperor, who will see your loans paid."
Li volunteered for the role of scapegoat so that the Emperor and I could save face.
I was sure that Li had regrets. He had given me so much, yet all I offered in return was disappointment after disappointment. It was amazing that he didn't overthrow Guang-hsu's regime. He would not have needed an army. He knew my vulnerability all along. His integrity and humanity humbled me. He was the best gift Heaven ever bestowed on the Ch'ing Dynasty.
45
The welcoming banners on the Forbidden City walls hid the damage done by the foreign artillery. When my palanquin approached my palace I saw that many statues and ornaments had been shattered or stolen. The Sea Palace, where all my valuable possessions had been hidden, was raided. The offices at Ying-t'ai had been burned. The fingers of my white-jade Buddha were broken. The Allies' commander in chief, the German field marshal Count Waldersee, was said to have slept in my bed with the notorious Chinese courtesan named Golden Flower.
Not wanting to be reminded of the shame, I moved to the modest Palace of Serenity, in the northeast corner of the Forbidden City. Its remote location and unkempt appearance made it the only spot the foreigners had not violated.
Three days after the court's return, Guang-hsu and I resumed audiences and received foreign envoys. We tried to put smiles on our faces. Sometimes our emotions slipped and unexpected words would tumble out. As a result, translators kept getting fired. One foreign minister later described my facial expression as "in between crying and smiling"—a kind of twisted grimace that he suspected was the result of a stroke. He also detected "a swelling around Her Majesty's eyes." He was right—I frequently wept at night. Others noticed that I rocked my chin and appeared to have trouble sitting still. They were right too: I was still trying to rid myself of lice.
I forced myself to apologize. With great effort I managed to wish happiness and health to the foreign representatives and dismiss them with a gracious nod.
When Li Hung-chang's name was mentioned at such audiences, which was often, I could not control my tears.
Li Lien-ying kept a close watch over me. He would call for a recess and take me to the back of the hall, where I would fall on my knees and sob. He kept a water basin and a makeup kit behind the curtains. I tried not to rub my eyes so that the swelling would go down.
The daughter of Yung Lu was going to be married, and he asked for my blessing. The groom was Prince Ch'un Junior—my sister's youngest son and Emperor Guang-hsu's brother. I had had my reservations about Ch'un until I'd recently met him again. He had just returned from a trip to Germany to apologize on behalf of the Emperor for the death of Baron von Ketteler. Prince Ch'un was a changed man. He was no longer so overbearing, and he listened more. For the first time, he credited Li Hung-chang and acknowledged and honored Li's diplomatic accomplishments. I offered my blessing not only because Yung Lu had accepted him as a son-in-law, but also because Prince Ch'un was the only hope left in the dynasty's bloodline.
I attended the wedding and found Yung Lu and his wife, Willow, to be happy, although Yung Lu's cough had worsened. None of us could have predicted that he would soon gain a grandson who would become the last Emperor of China.
Instead of having a traditional opera troupe, the guests were entertained with a silent moving picture show of a horserace. The idea came from Yuan Shih-kai, of course, who had borrowed the film from a diplomat friend at one of the legations. It was a grand experience for me. At first I thought what we saw were the images of ghosts. I kept turning my head back and forth between the screen and the film projector.
Yuan Shih-kai took this occasion to ask for my help. He said, "Your Majesty, my police force is having difficulty disciplining the royal princes."
I gave Yuan permission to enforce the law, and I asked him if he in turn could help me take care of a recent scandal.
"Elderly students who are against my abolishing the old civil service exam system have been protesting outside my palace," I said. "They demand that I withdraw my support of Western-style schools. Yesterday, three seventy-year-old students hanged themselves."
Yuan Shih-kai understood his mission. Within a week, his police cleared out the protesters.
When Yung Lu became too ill to attend audiences, Yuan Shih-kai took his place. I was not used to having someone else sit in Yung Lu's spot, and it was difficult not to let it affect me. The court without Li Hung-chang and Yung Lu didn't feel like my court. Perhaps I sensed that I would soon lose Yung Lu. I became desperate to hear his voice, but he couldn't come to me, and etiquette forbade me from visiting him at his home. It was kind of Willow to keep me informed of her husband's condition, but I was not satisfied.
I was never unhappier to have to attend the audiences, but the situation was delicate and demanded my presence. Yuan Shih-kai was a Han Chinese in a Manchu court. He was comp
etent, clever and charming, but still, Emperor Guang-hsu refused to even look in his direction when addressing him. Prince Ch'un didn't get along with Yuan either. The smallest disagreement would turn into a fight. Neither side would back down unless I intervened.
On a freezing February morning in 1902, Robert Hart came for a private audience. I had wanted to meet with this man for many years. I got up before dawn and Li Lien-ying helped me to dress.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I thought about what to say to the Englishman. We would have been bankrupted if he had not so capably run the customs service, which provided one third of China's annual revenue. "Neither Li Hung-chang nor Yung Lu could manage it," I explained to Li Lien-ying, "because half of Hart's job is to collect taxes from foreign merchants."
"Robert Hart has been China's good friend," the eunuch said. "I can tell that my lady is excited about finally seeing what he looks like."
"Make me look as good as you can, please."
"How about a phoenix hairdo, my lady? It will take a bit longer, and the weight of the jewelry might make your neck sore, but it will be worth it."
"That would be nice. I don't have anything else to award Sir Robert. My appearance will speak of my gratitude. I wish I were younger and prettier."
"You look splendid, my lady. The only thing you need to complete your image is the long nails."
"They haven't grown back since we escaped Peking."
"I have an idea, my lady. Why don't you put on your golden nail cases?"
At eight o'clock Sir Robert Hart was led into the audience hall. He sat down ten feet from me. He was sixty-seven years old. My first impression was that he looked more like a Chinese than an Englishman. He wasn't ceiling-tall or as monstrously framed as I had imagined. He was a medium-sized man, dressed in a gold-laced purple Chinese court robe. He performed a perfect kowtow. He wished me health and longevity in flawless Mandarin, although I noticed that he had a southerner's accent.