Part 20

“Some few days after his arrival in Peking, Ch’en was summoned to audience by orders conveyed through a member of the Grand Council; the Emperor and the Dowager Empress were awaiting his visit in a hall on the south side of the Palace. The consultation was curiously indicative of the divinity which hedges about the ruler of the Middle Kingdom; suggestive, too, of the solidity of that conservatism which dictates the inner policy of China. Ch’en entered the presence of his Sovereign on his knees, crossing the apartment in that position, after the customary kowtows. The Emperor and the Dowager Empress were seated at opposite sides of a low table on the daïs, and faced each other in that position during the greater part of the interview. The Emperor appeared pale and listless, had a troublesome irritation of the throat, and was evidently feverish; the thin oval of his face, clearly defined features, and aquiline nose gave him, in the physician’s eyes (to use his own words), the appearance of a foreigner. The Empress, who struck him as an extremely well-preserved and intelligent-looking woman, seemed to be extremely solicitous as to the patient’s health and careful for his comfort. As it would have been a serious breach of etiquette for the physician to ask any questions of His Majesty, the Empress proceeded to describe his symptoms, the invalid occasionally signifying confirmation of what was said by a word or a nod. During this monologue, the physician, following the customary procedure at Imperial audiences, kept his gaze concentrated upon the floor until, at the command of the Empress, and still kneeling, he was permitted to place one hand upon the Emperor’s wrist. There was no feeling of the pulse; simply contact with the flat of the hand, first on one side of the wrist and then on the other. This done, the Empress continued her narrative of the patient’s sufferings; she described the state of his tongue and the symptoms of ulceration in the mouth and throat, but as it was not permissible for the doctor to examine these, he was obliged to make the best of a somewhat unprofessional description. As he wisely observed, it is difficult to look at a patient’s tongue when his exalted rank compels you to keep your eyes fixed rigidly on the floor. The Empress having concluded her remarks on the case, Ch’en was permitted to withdraw and to present to the Grand Council his diagnosis, together with advice as to future treatment, which was subsequently communicated officially to the Throne. The gist of his advice was to prescribe certain tonics of the orthodox native type and to suggest the greatest possible amount of mental and physical rest.”[60]

The aged physician’s oracular forecast was justified. The Emperor lived to see the New Year and thereafter to regain his strength, a result due in some degree to the Empress Dowager’s genuine fear of foreign intervention, but chiefly to her recognition of the strength of public opinion against her in the south of China and of the expediency of conciliating it. In the Kuang provinces there was no doubt of the bitterly anti-Manchu feeling aroused by the execution of the Cantonese reformers: these turbulent southerners were fierce and loud in their denunciations of the Manchus and all their works, and it would not have required much to fan the flames of a new and serious rebellion. The south was well aware, for news travels swiftly in China, that the Emperor’s life was in danger and that the close of the year was the time fixed for his death, and from all sides protests and words of warning came pouring from the provinces to the capital, addressed not only to the metropolitan boards but to the Throne itself. Amongst these was a telegram signed by a certain Prefect of Shanghai named Ching Yüan-shan, who, in the name of “all the gentry, scholars, merchants and public of Shanghai,” referred to the Edict which announced the Emperor’s illness and implored the Empress, the Clansmen and the Grand Council to permit his sacred Majesty to resume the government “notwithstanding his indisposition,” and to abandon all thoughts of his abdication. He described the province of Kiangsu as being in a state of suppressed ferment and frankly alluded to the probability of foreigners intervening in the event of the Emperor’s death. Tzŭ Hsi was much incensed with this courageous official, not because he actually accused her of premeditating murder, but because he dared threaten her with its consequences. She gave orders that he be summarily cashiered, whereupon, fearing further manifestations of her wrath, he fled to Macao. But his bold words undoubtedly contributed to saving the Emperor’s life.

Of all the high provincial authorities, one only was found brave and disinterested enough to speak on behalf of the Emperor; this was Liu K’un-yi, the Viceroy of Nanking. He was too big a man to be publicly rebuked at a time like this and Tzŭ Hsi professed to admire his disinterested courage; but she was highly incensed at his action, which contrasted strongly with the astute opportunism of his colleague, the scholarly magnate Chang Chih-tung, Viceroy of Wuch’ang, who had been an ardent advocate of the reformers so long as the wind blew fair in that quarter. Only six months before he had recommended several progressives (amongst them his own secretary, Yang Jui) to the Emperor’s notice, and just before the storm burst he had been summoned to Peking by Kuang Hsü to support His Majesty’s policy as a member of the Grand Council. No sooner had the Empress Dowager declared herself on the side of the reactionaries, however, and the Emperor had failed in his attempt to win over Yüan Shih-k’ai and his troops, than Chang telegraphed to the Old Buddha warmly approving her policy, and urging strong measures against the reformers. The advice was superfluous; Tzŭ Hsi, having put her hand to the plough, was not the woman to remove it before her work was well done.

On the 11th day of the 8th Moon, she summoned Jung Lu to the capital to assist her in stamping out the reform movement. The Board of Punishments had just sent in a memorial urging the appointment of an Imperial Commission for the trial of K’ang Yu-wei’s colleagues. Tzŭ Hsi, in reply, directed them to act in consultation with the Grand Council and to cross-examine the prisoners “with the utmost severity.” At the same time she ordered the imprisonment in the Board’s gaol of Chang Yin-huan,[61] the Emperor’s trusted adviser and friend who, she observed, “bears an abominable reputation.” This Edict took occasion to state that the Throne, anxious to temper justice with mercy, would refrain from any general proscription or campaign of revenge, “although fully aware that many prominent scholars and officials had allowed themselves to be corrupted by the reformers.”

The Empress’s next step, advised by Jung Lu, was to issue a Decree, in the name of the Emperor, in which she justified the policy of reaction and reassured the Conservative party. The document is an excellent example of her methods. While the Emperor is made to appear as convinced of the error of his ways, all blame for the “feelings of apprehension” created by the reform movement is relegated to “our officials’ failure to give effect to our orders in the proper way,” so that everybody’s “face” is saved. The following abridged translation is of permanent interest, for the same arguments are in use to-day and will undoubtedly be required hereafter, when the Manchus come to deal with the impending problems of Constitutional Government:—

“The original object of the Throne in introducing reforms in the administration of the government was to increase the strength of our Empire and to ameliorate the condition of our subjects. It was no sudden whim for change, nor any contempt for tradition that actuated us; surely our subjects must recognise that our action was fully justifiable and indeed inevitable. Nevertheless, we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that feelings of apprehension have been aroused, entirely due to the failure of our officials to give effect to our orders in the proper way, and that this again has led to the dissemination of wild rumours and wrong ideas amongst the ignorant masses of the people. For instance, when we abolished six superfluous government boards, we did so in the public interest, but the immediate result has been that we have been plagued with Memorials suggesting that we should destroy and reconstruct the whole system of administration. It is evident that, unless we explain our policy as a whole, great danger may arise from the spread of such ideas, and to prevent any such result we now command that the six metropolitan departments which we previously abolished be re-established exactly as before. Again, our original intention in authorising the establishment of official newspapers, and allowing all and sundry of our subjects to address us, was to encourage the spread of knowledge and to improve our own sources of intelligence. Unfortunately, however, the right of addressing the Throne has been greatly abused, and the suggestions which have reached us in this way have not only been trivial and useless on many occasions, but have recently shown a tendency towards revolutionary propaganda. For this reason the right to memorialise the Throne will in future be strictly reserved in accordance with the established and ancient custom. As for official newspapers, we have come to the conclusion that they are quite useless for any purposes of the government, and that they only lead to popular discontent; they are therefore abolished from this day forth. The proper training grounds for national industry and talent are Colleges, and these are to go on as before, it being the business of the local officials, acting upon public opinion in their respective districts, to continue the improvement of education on the lines laid down; but there is to be no conversion of temples and shrines into schools, as was previously ordered, because this might lead to strong objection on the part of the people. Generally speaking, there shall be no measures taken contrary to the established order of things throughout the Empire. The times are critical, and it behoves us, therefore, to follow in government matters the happy mean and to avoid all extreme measures and abuses. It is our duty, without prejudice, to steer a middle course, and it is for you, our officials, to aim at permanence and stability of administration in every branch of the government.”

Jung Lu was now raised to membership of the Grand Council, and given supreme command of the northern forces and control of the Board of War; he thus became the most powerful official in the Empire, holding a position for which no precedent existed in the annals of the Manchu Dynasty. He had once more proved loyal to the Empress and faithful to the woman whom he had served since the days of the flight to Jehol; and he had his reward. It was natural, if not inevitable, that the part played by Jung Lu in the crisis of the _coup d’état_ should expose him to severe criticism, especially abroad; but, from the Chinese official’s point of view, his action in supporting the Empress Dowager against her nephew, the Emperor, was nothing more than his duty, and as a statesman he showed himself consistently moderate, sensible, and reliable. The denunciations subsequently poured upon him by the native and foreign Press at the time of the Boxer rising were the result, partly of the unrefuted falsehoods disseminated by K’ang Yu-wei and his followers, and partly of the Legations’ prejudice (thence arising) and lack of accurate information. As will hereafter be shown, all his efforts were directed towards stemming the tide of that fanatical outbreak and restraining his Imperial mistress from acts of folly. Amidst the cowardice, ignorance and cruelty of the Manchu Clansmen his foresight and courage stand out steadily in welcome relief; the only servant of the Throne during Tzŭ Hsi’s long rule who approaches him in administrative ability and disinterested patriotism is Tseng Kuo-fan (of whose career a brief account has already been given). From this time forward until his death (1903) we find him ever at Tzŭ Hsi’s right hand, her most trusted and efficient adviser; and her choice was well made. As will be seen in a later chapter, there was a time in 1900, when the Old Buddha, distraught by the tumult and the shouting, misled by her own hopes, her superstitious beliefs and the clamorous advice of her kinsfolk, allowed Prince Tuan and his fellow fanatics to undermine for a little while Jung Lu’s influence. Nevertheless (as will be seen by the diary of Ching Shan) it was to him that she always turned, in the last resort, for counsel and comfort; it was on him that she leaned in the dark hour of final defeat,—and he never failed her. She lived to realise that the advice which he gave, and which she sometimes neglected, was invariably sound. Amidst all the uncertainties of recent Chinese history this much is certain, that the memory of Jung Lu deserves a far higher place in the esteem of his countrymen and of foreigners than it has hitherto received. Unaware himself of many of the calumnies that had been circulated about him at the time of the Court’s flight, he was greatly hurt, and his sense of justice outraged, by the cold reception given him by the Legations after the Court’s return to Peking. Thereafter, until his death, he was wont to say to his intimate friends that while he would never regret the stand he had taken against the Boxers, he could not understand or forgive the hostility and ingratitude shown him by foreigners. “It was not for love towards them,” he observed, on one occasion recorded, “that he had acted as he did, but only because of his devotion to the Empress Dowager and the Manchu Dynasty; nevertheless, since his action had coincided with the interests of the foreigner, he was entitled to some credit for it.”

The Empress Dowager consulted long and earnestly with Jung Lu as to the punishment to be inflicted upon the reformers. He advocated strong measures of repression, holding that the prestige of the Manchu Dynasty was involved. The six prisoners were examined by the Board of Punishments, and Jung Lu closely questioned them as to K’ang Yu-wei’s intentions in regard to the Empress Dowager. Documents found in K’ang’s house had revealed every detail of the plot, and upon the Grand Council recommended the execution of all the prisoners. There being no doubt that they had been guilty of high treason against Her Majesty, it seemed clearly inadvisable to prolong the trial, especially as there was undoubtedly a risk of widening the breach between Manchus and Chinese by any delay in the proceedings, at a time when party spirit was running high on both sides. The Old Buddha concurred in the decision of the Grand Council, desiring to terminate the crisis as soon as possible; accordingly, on the 13th day of the Moon, the reformers were executed. They met their death bravely, their execution outside the city being witnessed by an immense crowd. It was reported that amongst the papers of Yang Jui were found certain highly compromising letters addressed to him by the Emperor himself, in which the Empress Dowager was bitterly denounced. There was also a Memorial by Yang impeaching Her Majesty for gross immorality and illicit relations with several persons in high positions, one of whom was Jung Lu; this document had been annotated in red ink by the Emperor himself. It quoted songs and ballads current in the city of Canton, referring to Her Majesty’s alleged vicious practices, and warned the Emperor that, if the Manchu dynasty should come now to its end, the fault would lie as much with Tzŭ Hsi and her evil deeds as was the case when the Shang dynasty (of the 12th Century B.C.) fell by reason of the Emperor Chou Hsin’s infatuation for his concubine Ta Chi, whose orgies are recorded in history. Yang Jui had compared the Empress Dowager’s life at the Summer Palace with the enormities committed by this infamous concubine in her palace by the “Lake of Wine”; small wonder then, said Tzŭ Hsi’s advocates in defence of drastic measures, that, having seen for herself, in the Emperor’s own handwriting, that these treasonable utterances met with his favour and support, Her Majesty was vindictively inclined and determined to put an end, once and for all, to his relations with the Reform party.

The edict which ordered the execution of the Reform leaders was drafted by the Empress Dowager herself with the aid of Jung Lu, but with cynical irony it was issued in the name of the Emperor. It was written in red ink as an indication of its special importance, a formality usually reserved for decrees given by the Sovereign under his own hand. After laying stress upon the necessity for introducing reforms in the country’s administration, and on the anxiety felt by the Throne in regard to the increasing difficulties of government, this Decree proceeded to state that K’ang Yu-wei and his followers, taking advantage of the necessities of the moment, had entered into a rebellious conspiracy, aiming at the overthrow of the Throne itself; fortunately, their treacherous intentions had been disclosed, and the whole plot revealed. The Decree continued as followed:—

“We are further informed that, greatly daring, these traitors have organised a secret Society, the objects of which are to overthrow the Manchu dynasty for the benefit of the Chinese. Following the precepts of the Sages, We, the Emperor, are in duty bound to propagate filial piety as the foremost of all virtues, and have always done so, as our subjects must be fully aware. But the writings of K’ang Yu-wei were, in their tendency, depraved and immoral; they contain nothing but abominable doctrines intended to flout and destroy the doctrines of the Sages. Originally impressed by his knowledge of contemporary politics, we appointed him to be a Secretary of the Tsungli Yamên, and subsequently gave him charge of the establishment of the proposed official newspaper at Shanghai; but instead of going to his post, he remained for the purposes of his evil conspiracies at Peking. Had it not been that, by the protecting influences of our ancestors, his plot was revealed, appalling disasters must undoubtedly have followed. K’ang himself, the moving spirit in this conspiracy, has fled from justice, and we rely upon the proper authorities to see to it that he be arrested, and that capital punishment be inflicted upon him.”

The Decree then proceeded to award the death penalty to K’ang Yu-wei’s colleague, Liang Ch’i-ch’ao, a scholar of the highest repute, who subsequently found a refuge in Japan, and there edits a newspaper of high and well-deserved reputation. Next in order of importance were the three Secretaries of the Grand Council, who were awaiting the result of their trial in the Board of Punishments. The Edict added that any delay in their execution might, in the opinion of the Grand Council, lead to a revolutionary movement, and for this reason further formalities of justice in regard to all six prisoners were dispensed with, and their summary decapitation ordered.

After disposing of K’ang Yu-wei’s followers and accomplices, the Decree once more emphasises the heinous guilt of their leader:—

“Our dynasty,” it says, “rules in accordance with the teachings of Confucius. Such treason as that of K’ang Yu-wei is abhorred by gods and men alike. Surely the elemental forces of nature must refuse to protect such a man,[62] surely all humanity must unite in the extermination of such noisome creatures. As to those of his followers who, for the most part, were led away by his immoral doctrines, their number is legion, and the Throne has taken note of their names, but the Imperial clemency is all-abounding, and we have decided to go no further with our enquiries into these treasonable plottings. Let all concerned now take warning by K’ang’s example. Let them conscientiously follow the doctrines of the Sages, and turn their hearts to wisdom in devotion to the Throne.”

Despite the Throne’s “all abounding clemency” and Tzŭ Hsi’s declared intention to take no steps beyond the execution of the six reform leaders, her “divine wrath” continued to be stirred up by the recollection of the personal attacks that had been made against her. Following immediately upon the Decree above quoted, came another whereby Chang Yin-huan was sentenced to banishment to the New Dominion on a vague charge of the usual classical type. His real offence lay in that he had denounced the Empress Dowager for extravagance, and she was the more embittered against him because the British Minister had presumed to intervene with a plea for his life.

In another Decree the proposed visit to Tientsin was cancelled, at the earnest request of Jung Lu, who dreaded the possibility of an attempt on the life of the Empress Dowager. Her feminine curiosity had been stirred by the prospect of a visit to the Treaty port and a change from the seclusion of Peking, but she yielded to the advice of the Commander-in-Chief. At the same time military reorganisation was pressed forward with the greatest energy, and the occasion was taken to bestow _largesse_ on the Chihli troops.

Upon Jung Lu coming to Peking Yü Lu was appointed to succeed him as Viceroy of Chihli. This bigoted official enjoyed in a large measure the confidence of the Empress Dowager. Unusually ignorant, even for a Manchu, and totally devoid of ability, he was subsequently responsible for the growth of the Boxer movement in and around Tientsin. At this particular crisis, however, distrust of the Chinese was rife, and the Old Buddha felt that the presence of a Manchu Viceroy to control the Metropolitan Province was necessary to prevent any organised movement by the revolutionaries.

There now remained unpunished in Peking only one high official who had been in any way publicly associated with the reformers, _i.e._, Li Tuan-fen, President of the Board of Ceremonies. After waiting a few days and finding that his case was not referred to in any of the Edicts, he applied in a Memorial to the Throne that the offence which he had committed (in recommending K’ang Yu-wei and other reformers for government employment) should be suitably punished. The Memorial is in itself a most interesting document, as it throws light on several characteristic features of the internal economy of the Chinese Government. The writer, after admitting his guilt, and expressing astonishment that it has not been brought home to him, placed on record his gratitude for the clemency thus far exercised, and asked that, as his conscience gave him no peace, Her Majesty might be pleased to determine the penalty for his guilt, “to serve as a warning to all officials who may be led to recommend evil characters to the notice of the Throne.” Tzŭ Hsi’s reply was equally interesting, and was issued, as usual, in the name of the Emperor:—