Part 12

Tzŭ Hsi, however, was too determined to retain her position and power to allow any weight to attach to sentimental, religious, or other considerations. If, in order to secure her objects, a violation of the ancestral and House-laws were necessary, she was not the woman to hesitate, and she trusted to her own intelligence and the servility of her tools in the Censorate to put matters right, or, at least, to overcome all opposition. At this period she was on bad terms with her colleague and Co-Regent, whom she had never forgiven for her share in the decapitation of her Chief Eunuch, An Te-hai; she hated and mistrusted Prince Kung, and there is hardly a doubt that she had resolved to get rid of the young Empress A-lu-te before the birth of her child. The only member of the Imperial family with whom she was at this time on intimate terms was her brother-in-law, Prince Ch’un, the seventh son of the Emperor Tao-Kuang. This Prince, an able man, though dissolute in his habits, had married her favourite sister, the younger Yehonala, and it will, therefore, be readily understood that the reasons which actuated her in deciding to place this Prince’s infant son upon the Throne were of the very strongest. During his minority she would continue to rule the Empire, and, should he live to come of age, her sister, the Emperor’s mother, might be expected to exert her influence to keep him in the path of dutiful obedience. Tzŭ Hsi’s objection to the son of Prince Kung was partly due to the fact that she had never forgiven his father for his share in the death of the eunuch, An Te-hai, and other offences, and partly because the young Prince was now in his seventeenth year, and would, therefore, almost immediately have assumed the Government in his own person. Tzŭ Hsi was aware that, in that event, it would be in accordance with tradition and the methods adopted by the stronger party in the Forbidden City for ridding itself of inconvenient rivals and conflicting authorities, that either she should be relegated to complete obscurity here below, or forcibly assisted on the road to Heaven. It was thus absolutely necessary for her to put a stop to this appointment, and, as usual, she acted with prompt thoroughness, which speedily triumphed over the disorganised efforts of her opponents. By adroit intrigues, exercised chiefly through her favourite eunuch, she headed off any attempt at co-operation between the supporters of Prince P’u Lun and those of Prince Kung, while, with the aid of Jung Lu and the appearance on the scene of a considerable force of Li Hung-chang’s Anhui troops, she prepared the way for the success of her own plans; her preparations made, she summoned a Council of the Clansmen and high officials, to elect and appoint the new Emperor.

This solemn conclave took place in the Palace of “Mind Nurture,” on the western side of the Forbidden City, about a quarter of a mile distant from the palace in which the Emperor T’ung-Chih had expired. In addition to the Empresses Regent, those present numbered twenty-five in all, including several Princes and Imperial Clansmen, the members of the Grand Council, and several of the highest metropolitan officials; but of all these, only five were Chinese. Prince Tsai Chih, the father of Prince P’u Lun, was there, as well as Prince Kung, both representing the proposed legitimate claims to the Throne. The approaches to the Palace were thronged with eunuchs, and Tzŭ Hsi had taken care, with the assistance of Jung Lu, that all the strategical points in the Forbidden City should be held by troops on whose loyalty she could completely depend. Amongst them were many of Jung Lu’s own Banner Corps, as well as detachments chiefly composed of members and adherents of the Yehonala clan. By Tzŭ Hsi’s express orders, the newly-widowed Empress A-lu-te was excluded from the Council meeting, and remained dutifully weeping by the bedside of her departed lord, who had already been arrayed in the ceremonial Dragon robes.

In the Council Chamber Tzŭ Hsi and her colleague sat opposite to each other on Thrones; all the officials present were on their knees. Taking precedence as usual, and assuming as of right the _rôle_ of chief speaker, Tzŭ Hsi began by remarking that no time must be lost in selecting the new Emperor; it was not fitting that the Throne should remain vacant on the assumption that an heir would be born to His late Majesty. Prince Kung ventured to disagree with this opinion, expressing the view that, as A-lu-te’s child would shortly be born, there should be no difficulty in keeping back the news of the Emperor’s death for a little while; the child, if a boy, could then rightly and fittingly be placed on the Throne, while in the event of the posthumous child being a daughter, there would still be time enough to make selection of the Emperor’s successor. The Princes and Clansmen appeared to side with this view, but Tzŭ Hsi brushed it aside, observing that there were still rebellions unsuppressed in the south, and that if it were known that the Throne was empty, the Dynasty might very well be overthrown. “When the nest is destroyed, how many eggs will remain unbroken?” she asked. The Grand Councillors and several senior statesmen, including the three Chinese representatives from the south, expressed agreement with this view, for they realised that, given conditions of unrest, the recently active Taiping rebels might very easily renew the anti-Dynastic movement.

The Empress Dowager of the East then gave it as her opinion that Prince Kung’s son should be chosen heir to the Throne; Prince Kung, in accordance with the customary etiquette, kowtowed and professed unwillingness that such honour should fall to his family, and suggested that the youthful Prince P’u Lun should be elected. P’u Lun’s father in turn pleaded the unworthiness of his offspring, not because he really felt any qualms on the subject, but because custom necessitated this self-denying attitude. “That has nothing to do with the case,” said Tzŭ Hsi to the last speaker, “but as you are only the adopted son of Yi Wei” (the eldest son of the Emperor Tao-Kuang) “what precedent can any of you show for placing on the Throne the heir of an adopted son?” Prince Kung, called upon to reply, hesitated, and suggested as a suitable precedent the case of a Ming Emperor of the fifteenth century canonised as Ying-Tsung. “That is a bad precedent,” replied the Empress, who had every precedent of history at her finger ends. “The Emperor Ying-Tsung was not really the son of his predecessor, but was palmed off on the Emperor by one of the Imperial concubines. His reign was a period of disaster; he was for a time in captivity under the Mongols and afterwards lived in retirement at Peking for eight years while the Throne was occupied by his brother.” Turning next to her colleague she said, “As for me, I propose as heir to the Throne, Tsai Tien, the son of Yi Huan (Prince Ch’un), and advise you all that we lose no time.” On hearing these words Prince Kung turned to his brother and angrily remarked: “Is the right of primogeniture[29] to be completely ignored?” “Let the matter then be decided by taking a vote,” said Tzŭ Hsi, and her colleague offered no objections. The result of the vote was that seven of the Princes, led by Prince Ch’un, voted for Prince P’u Lun, and three for the son of Prince Kung; the remainder of the Council voted solidly for Tzŭ Hsi’s nominee. The voting was done openly and the result was entirely due to the strong will and dominating personality of the woman whom all had for years recognised as the real ruler of China. When the voting was concluded, Tzŭ An, who was always more anxious for an amicable settlement than for prolonged discussion, intimated her willingness to leave all further arrangements in the hands of her colleague. It was now past nine o’clock, a furious dust-storm was raging and the night was bitterly cold, but Tzŭ Hsi, who never wasted time at moments of crisis, ordered a strong detachment of Household troops to be sent to the residence of Prince Ch’un in the Western City, and with it the Imperial yellow sedan chair with eight bearers, to bring the boy Emperor to the Palace. At the same time, to keep Prince Kung busy and out of harm’s way, she gave him charge of the body of the dead Emperor, while she had the Palace surrounded and strongly guarded by Jung Lu’s troops. It was in her careful attention to details of this kind that lay her marked superiority to the vacillating and unbusinesslike methods of those who opposed her, and it is this Napoleonic characteristic of the woman which explains much of the success that her own people frequently attributed to luck. Before midnight the little Emperor had been duly installed in the Palace, weeping bitterly upon his ill-omened coming to the Forbidden City. With him came his mother (Tzŭ Hsi’s sister) and several nurses. The first event of his reign, imposed upon him, like much future misery, by dynastic precedent, was to be taken at once to the Hall where his deceased predecessor was lying in State, and there to kowtow, as well as his tender years permitted, before the departed ruler. A Decree was thereupon issued in the names of the Empresses Dowager, who thus became once more Regents, announcing, “that they were absolutely compelled to select Tsai Tien for the Throne, and that he should become heir by adoption to his uncle Hsien-Feng, but that, so soon as he should have begotten a son, the Emperor T’ung-Chih would at once be provided with an heir.”

By this means the widowed Empress A-lu-te was completely passed over, and the claims of her posthumous son ignored in advance. Once more Tzŭ Hsi had gained an easy and complete victory. It was clear to those who left the Council Chamber after the issue of this Decree, that neither the young widowed Empress nor the unborn child of T’ung-Chih were likely to give much more trouble.

For form’s sake, and in accordance with dynastic precedents, a Memorial was submitted by all the Ministers and Princes of the Household, begging their Majesties the Empresses to resume the Regency, who, on their part, went through the farce of acceding graciously to this request, on the time-honoured ground that during the Emperor’s minority there must be some central authority to whom the officials of the Empire might look for the necessary guidance. It was only fitting and proper, however, that reluctance should be displayed, and Tzŭ Hsi’s reply to the Memorial therefore observed that “the perusal of this Memorial has greatly increased our grief and sorrowful recognition of the exigencies of the times, for we had hoped that the Regency was merely a temporary measure of unusual expediency. Be it known that so soon as the Emperor shall have completed his education, we shall immediately hand over to him the affairs of the Government.”

The infant Emperor was understood to express “dutiful thanks to their Majesties for this virtuous act” and all the formalities of the tragic comedy were thus completed. The Empress Dowager gave orders that the repairs which had been begun at the Lake and Summer Palaces should now be stopped, the reason given being that the Empresses Regent would have no time nor desire for gaiety in the years to come; the real reason being, however, that the death of the Emperor removed all necessity for their Majesties leaving the Forbidden City.

Tzŭ Hsi’s success in forcing her wishes upon the Grand Council and having her sister’s infant son appointed to the Imperial succession, in opposition to the wishes of a powerful party and in violation of the dynastic law, was entirely due to her energy and influence. The charm of her personality, and the convincing directness of her methods were more effective than all the forces of tradition. This fact, and her triumph, become the more remarkable when we bear in mind that she had been advised, and the Grand Council was aware, that the infant Emperor suffered from physical weaknesses which, even at that date, rendered it extremely unlikely that he would ever provide an heir to the Throne. Those who criticised her selection, knowing this, would have been therefore in a strong position had they not been lacking in courage and decision, since it was clear, if the fact were admitted, that Her Majesty’s only possible motive was personal ambition.

From that time until the death of the Emperor and her own, on the 14th and 15th November 1908, the belief was widespread, and not infrequently expressed, that the Emperor, whose reign began thus inauspiciously, would not survive her, and there were many who predicted that his death would occur before the time came for him to assume supreme control of the Government. All foretold that Tzŭ Hsi would survive him, for the simple reason that only thus could she hope to regulate once more the succession and continue the Regency. The prophets of evil were wrong, as we know, inasmuch as Kuang-Hsü was allowed his years of grace in control of affairs, but we know also that after the _coup d’état_ it was only the fear of an insurrection in the south that saved his life and prevented the accession of a new boy Emperor.

The designation of the new reign was then ordered to be “Kuang-Hsü,” meaning “glorious succession”; it was chosen to emphasise the fact that the new Emperor was a direct lineal descendant of the last great Manchu Emperor, Tao-Kuang, and to suggest the hope that the evil days of Hsien-Feng and T’ung-Chih had come to an end. The next act of the Empresses Regent was to confer an honorific title upon the late Emperor’s widow; but the honour was not sufficient to prevent her from committing suicide on the 27th of March as an act of protest at the grievous wrong done to her, to the memory of her husband and to the claims of his posthumous heir. This was the unofficial explanation current, but opinions have always differed, and must continue to differ, as to the truth of the suicide, there being many who, not unnaturally, accused Tzŭ Hsi of putting an end to the unfortunate woman. Against this the Empress’s advocates observe that, having succeeded in obtaining the appointment of Kuang-Hsü to the Throne, and the matter being irrevocably settled, there existed no further necessity for any act of violence: but few, if any, suggest that had circumstances necessitated violent measures they would not have been taken. The balance of evidence is undoubtedly in the direction of foul play. But, however administered, it is certain that the death of the Empress A-lu-te influenced public opinion more profoundly than she could ever have done by living; as a result, thousands of Memorials poured in from the Censorate and the provinces, strongly protesting against the selection of the infant son of Prince Ch’un for the Throne, as a violation of all ancestral custom and the time-honoured laws of succession. It is significant that all these protests were clearly directed against Tzŭ Hsi, her colleague’s nonentity being practically and generally recognised. For a time Tzŭ Hsi’s popularity (and therefore the position of the Yehonala clan) was seriously affected, and when, four years later, the Censor, Wu K’o-tu, committed suicide near T’ung-Chih’s grave to emphasise the seriousness of the crime and to focus public attention on the matter, the Empress was compelled to bow to the storm and to give a second and more solemn pledge that the deceased Emperor should not permanently be left without heirs to perform for him the sacrifices of ancestral worship. It will be seen hereafter how she kept that pledge.

Prince Ch’un, in the capacity of father to the new Emperor, submitted a Memorial asking leave to be permitted to resign his various offices, because, as an official, he would be bound to kowtow to the Emperor, and as a father he could not kowtow to his own son. In the course of this Memorial, which reminds the reader unpleasantly of Mr. Pecksniff, the Prince observes that when first informed of his son’s selection as heir to the Dragon Throne, “he almost fainted and knew not what to do. When borne to his home, his body was trembling and his heart palpitating severely; like a madman, or one who walks in dreams, was he, so that he incurred a serious recurrence of his liver trouble and the state of his health became really a matter for anxiety. He would prefer that the silent tomb should close forthwith over his remains rather than to continue to draw the breath of life as the useless son of the Emperor Tao-Kuang.”

The Empress Dowager, in reply, directed her faithful Ministers to devise a careful compromise “based on the special requirements of the case,” the result of which was that Prince Ch’un was permitted to resign his offices and excused from attendance at all Court ceremonies involving obeisance to the Emperor, but was retained in a sort of general capacity as “adviser to the Empresses Regent” to serve when called upon. On the birthdays of the Empresses Regent, he would be permitted to prostrate himself before them in private, and not as a member of the Court in attendance on the Emperor. His first class Princedom was made hereditary for ever, and he was commanded to give the benefit of his experience and sage counsel to his successor, Prince Tun, as officer commanding the Manchu Field Force—an order which he must have obeyed, for the Force in question became more and more notorious for its tatterdemalion uselessness and the corruption of its commanders.

Remembering the institution of the first Regency, it will be noted how faithfully history can be made to repeat itself in the Celestial Empire.

IX

THE PROTEST AND SUICIDE OF WU K’O-TU

Immediately after the death of T’ung-Chih’s young widow, the validity of the Imperial succession and the violation of all traditions which Tzŭ Hsi had committed, became a matter of grave concern to the conservative and more conscientious supporters of the Dynasty. The first evidence of dissatisfaction was contained in a Memorial submitted by a Manchu sub-Chancellor of the Grand Secretariat who, while accepting the situation as it stood in regard to the boy Emperor, Kuang-Hsü, stipulated that safeguards or guarantees should be given by the Throne for the eventual regulation of the succession and for the provision of heirs to His orbate Majesty, T’ung-Chih. The Memorial was as follows:—

“The selection of an heir to the Throne is a matter resting entirely with the Sovereign and beyond scope of interference or criticism by any subject. But in cases where the arrangements made necessitate modification in order to render them perfect, a loyal subject is justified, if not compelled, to speak his mind freely.

“The whole Empire looked forward to seeing our late Emperor enjoy a long and prosperous reign, but he has passed away without leaving any posterity. The selection of a successor which your Majesties the Empresses Dowager have, in your wisdom, decided upon is admirable no doubt, particularly since you have promised that an heir shall eventually be provided for His Majesty, T’ung-Chih. This proves that in regulating the dynastic succession, you are proceeding precisely as if it were a case of adoption from one family into another: you have therefore wisely decided that not only shall a son be adopted to the late Emperor, but that in due course his succession will be carried on by a grandson in the direct line of generation, so that His Majesty’s posterity may be established without a break, and perpetuated without intermission for all time.

“The proposal in itself is excellent, but study of the Sung Dynasty’s history has led me to view the matter with no small apprehension. The founder of that Dynasty, the Emperor Chao Kuang-yin (tenth century), following the directions of his mother the Empress Dowager, made his brother heir to the Throne instead of his son, it being understood that upon his brother’s death the succession should revert to his son.[30] Subsequently however, the brother, having come to the Throne, and having listened to the evil suggestions of his Privy Councillors, ignored the claims of his nephew, and placed his own son upon the Throne. In that instance, obedience to the wishes of his mother has brought down upon the Emperor Chao Kuang-yin the undying censure of posterity. If the Empress, on that occasion, had done her duty, and had caused unbreakable bonds to be given assuring the reversion of the succession to the direct line, no irregularities could possibly have occurred: the Decrees would have been as immovable as the Sacred Mountain, and as self-evident as the nine tripods of the Emperor Yü. It would have been impossible for any misguided Councillors of State to justify their unlawful interference with the rightful course of succession.

“From all this we learn that the succession, although decided in a moment, affects all posterity. Was it not, moreover, by self-sacrifice and strong family affections[31] that our Dynasty acquired the Empire: have we not for example the records of each succeeding virtuous Emperor? We cannot therefore entertain any doubt but that the present Emperor, when he comes to have an heir, will forthwith make him son by adoption to the late Emperor, so that the succession may proceed along the direct line. No doubt this is the intention, but, as history shows, there exists a danger that, with the lapse of time, suggestions may be put forward similar to those of the Privy Council nine centuries ago, which would utterly frustrate the wise policy animating your Majesties the Empresses Dowager, and leave no fixed principles for posterity to follow. With your approval, therefore, we would ask that the Princes and Ministers be now required to draw up and record an unbreakable and unchangeable pledge as to the succession to the Throne, which should be proclaimed for the information of all your Majesties’ subjects.”

Tzŭ Hsi was becoming decidedly irritable on this subject of the succession, and there can be little doubt that her own conscience and the views of patriotic Memorialists came to much the same conclusion. The Rescript which she issued on the present occasion was short, sharp, and suggestive of temper:—

“We have already issued an absolutely clear Decree on this subject,” she said, “providing for an heir to the late Emperor, and the Decree has been published all over the Empire. The Memorialist’s present request gives evidence of unspeakable audacity and an inveterate habit of fault-finding, which has greatly enraged us, so that we hereby convey to him a stern rebuke.”

The Memorials and remonstrances of many high officials emphasised the seriousness of this question of the legitimacy of the Imperial succession to the nation at large, and its profound effect on the fundamental principles of ancestor worship. Nevertheless, having delivered their souls, the Mandarinate, led by the Peking Boards, were disposed to acquiesce in the _fait accompli_; in any case, there was no sign of organised opinion in opposition to the will of the Empress Dowager. The irregularity was evidently serious, and Heaven would doubtless visit the sins of the Throne, as usual, on the unoffending “stupid people”; but the individualism and mutual suspicion that peculiarly distinguish the Chinese official world, precluded all idea of concerted action or remedial measures.