Part 31

“After leaving Jung Lu, I made my way to a little temple which lies midway between the North and the North-West Gates of the city, and there I rested a while. It was the opinion of the Abbot in charge that the foreigners would burn every temple of the city, as all of them had been used by the Boxers for their magic rites, and he said that, in times of dire peril such as this, it was really inconvenient for him to offer any hospitality to visitors. Just at this moment news was brought us that the foreign troops were on the wall of the city, between the two gates nearest to us, and that they were firing down upon the streets; the city was already invested, but the foreigners were not molesting civilians, though they were shooting all ‘braves’ and men in uniform. As the priest declined to receive me, I sought refuge at the house of a man named Han, retainer in the Imperial Household, who lived close by. All my chair-bearers and servants had fled. Shortly after noon I heard that one might still leave Peking by the Hsi-chih Men; so leaving everything—carts, chairs, and animals—where they were, I started off at dusk on foot with such money and clothing as I had on my person. The road ahead of me was blocked by a dense crowd of refugees. I took the road by the Drum Tower, skirting the lakes to the north of the Imperial City. Towards evening a dreadful thunderstorm came on, so I took refuge for the night with the Ching family. The bombardment had ceased by this time, but the whole northern part of the Imperial City appeared to be in flames, which broke out in fresh places all through the night. At three in the morning we heard that the West Gates were opened, and that the City Guards had fled, but that the foreigners had not yet reached that part of the city.

“I had intended to travel by cart, but the disorganised troops had by this time seized every available beast of burden. My second son, however, was luckily able to persuade Captain Liu to fetch one of my carts out from the city, and this was done after several narrow escapes. I had left Peking on foot, but at the bridge close to the North-West Gate I found this cart awaiting me, and with it my second son, who was riding on a mule, and the five servants who remained to us following on foot. When we reached Hai-Tien (a town which lies close to the Summer Palace) every restaurant was closed, but we managed to get a little food, and then hurried on after their Majesties to Kuanshih, where we passed the night. Next day, continuing our journey, we learned that their Majesties were halting at Huai-lai, where we overtook them on the 24th day of the Moon. We expect to reach T’ai-yüan fu about the middle of next week.

“The dangers of our journey are indescribable. Every shop on the road had been plundered by bands of routed troops, who pretend to be part of the Imperial escort. These bandits are ahead of us at every stage of the journey, and they have stripped the country-side bare, so that when the Imperial party reaches any place, and the escort endeavour to commandeer supplies, the distress of the inhabitants and the confusion which ensues are really terrible to witness. The districts through which we have passed are literally devastated.”

From Huai-lai the Court moved on to Hsüan-hua fu, a three days’ march, and there remained for four days, resting and preparing for the journey into Shansi. The Border Warden at Sha-ho chên had provided their Majesties with green (official) sedan chairs, and the usual etiquette of the Court and Grand Council was being gradually restored. Her Majesty’s spirits were excellent, and she took a keen interest in everything. At Chi-ming yi, for instance, she was with difficulty dissuaded from stopping to visit a temple on the summit of an adjoining hill, in honour of which shrine the Emperor Kanghsi had left a tablet carved with a memorial inscription in verse.

At Hsüan-hua fu there was considerable disorder, but the Court enjoyed increased comforts; thanks to the zeal and energy of the local Magistrate (Ch’en Pen). Here the Old Buddha received Prince Ch’ing’s first despatch from Peking, which gave a deplorable account of the situation.

The Court left Hsüan-hua on the 25th August (its numbers being increased by the Emperor’s Consort with a few of her personal attendants) and spent the night at a garrison station called Tso-Wei. The deplorable state of the country was reflected in the accommodation they found there; for the guards had fled, and the official quarters had all been plundered and burnt, with the exception of two small rooms, evil-smelling and damp. There was no food to be had, except bread made of sodden flour. One of the two available rooms was occupied by the Old Buddha, the other by Kuang Hsü and his Consort, while all the officials of the Court, high and low, fared as best they might in the stuffy courtyard. For once the venerable mother’s composure deserted her. “This is abominable,” she complained; “the place swarms with insects, and I cannot sleep a wink. It is disgraceful that I should have come to such a pass at my time of life. My state is worse even than that of the Emperor Hsüan-Tsung of the T’ang Dynasty, who was forced to fly from his capital, and saw his favourite concubine murdered before his very eyes.” An unsubstantiated report that the Allies had plundered her palace treasure vaults was not calculated to calm Her Majesty, and for a while the suite went in fear of her wrath.

On August 27th the Court crossed the Shansi border, and spent the night at T’ien-chen hsien. The local Magistrate, a Manchu, had committed suicide after hearing of the fall of Moukden and other Manchurian cities; and the town was in a condition of ruinous disorder. Their Majesties supped off a meal hastily provided by the Gaol Warder. But their courage was restored by the arrival of Ts’en Ch’un-hsüan,[105] an official of high intelligence and courage, who greatly pleased the Old Buddha by bringing her a gift of eggs and a girdle and pouch for her pipe and purse.

On the 30th August the Court lay at Ta-t’ung fu, in the Yamên of the local Brigadier-General. They stayed here four days, enjoying the greatly improved accommodation which the General’s efforts had secured for them.

On September 4th, they reached the market town of T’ai-yüeh, having travelled thirty-five miles that day, and here again they found damp rooms and poor fare. But Her Majesty’s spirits had recovered. On the 16th, while crossing the hill-pass of the “Flighting Geese,” Her Majesty ordered a halt in order to enjoy the view. “It reminds me of the Jehol Country,” she said. Then, turning to the Emperor, “After all, it’s delightful to get away like this from Peking and to see the world, isn’t it?” “Under happier circumstances, it would be,” replied Kuang Hsü. At this point Ts’en Ch’un-hsüan brought Her Majesty a large bouquet of yellow flowers, a present which touched her deeply: in return she sent him a jar of butter-milk tea.

On the 7th, the only accommodation which the local officials had been able to prepare at Yüan-p’ing was a mud-house belonging to one of the common people, in which, by an oversight, several empty coffins had been left. Ts’en, arriving ahead of the party, was told of this, and galloped to make excuses to Her Majesty and take her orders. Happily, the “Motherly Countenance” was not moved to wrath, and “the divine condescension was manifested.” “If the coffins can be moved, move them,” she said; “but so long as they are not in the main room, I do not greatly mind their remaining.” They were all removed, however, and the Old Buddha was protected from possibly evil influences.

On the 8th September, at Hsin Chou, three Imperial (yellow) chairs had been provided by the local officials, so that their Majesties’ entrance into T’ai-yüan fu, on the 10th, was not unimposing. The Court took up its residence in the Governor’s Yamên (that same bloodstained building in which, six weeks before, Yü Hsien had massacred the missionaries). Yü Hsien, the Governor, met their Imperial Majesties outside the city walls, and knelt by the roadside as the Old Buddha’s palanquin came up. She bade her bearers stop, and called to him to approach. When he had done so, she said: “At your farewell audience, in the last Moon of the last year, you assured me that the Boxers were really invulnerable. Alas! You were wrong, and now Peking has fallen! But you did splendidly in carrying out my orders and in ridding Shansi of the whole brood of foreign devils. Everyone speaks well of you for this, and I know, besides, how high is your reputation for good and honest work. Nevertheless, and because the foreign devils are loudly calling for vengeance upon you, I may have to dismiss you from office, as I had to do with Li Ping-heng: but be not disturbed in mind, for, if I do this, it is only to throw dust in the eyes of the barbarians, for our own ends. We must just bide our time, and hope for better days.”

Yü Hsien kowtowed, as in duty bound, nine times, and replied: “Your Majesty’s slave caught them as in a net, and allowed neither chicken nor dog to escape: yet am I ready to accept punishment and dismissal from my post. As to the Boxers, they have been defeated because they failed to abide by the laws of the Order, and because they killed and plundered innocent people who were not Christians.”

This conversation was clearly heard by several bystanders, one of whom reported it in a letter to Shanghai. When Yü Hsien had finished speaking, the Old Buddha sighed, and told her bearers to proceed. A few days later she issued the first of the Expiatory Decrees by which Yü Hsien and other Boxer leaders were dismissed from office, but not before she had visited the courtyard where the hapless missionaries had met their fate, and cross-examined Yü Hsien on every detail of that butchery. And it is recorded, that, while she listened eagerly to this tale of unspeakable cowardice and cruelty, the Heir Apparent was swaggering noisily up and down the courtyard, brandishing the huge sword given him by Yü Hsien, with which his devil’s work had been done. No better example could be cited of this remarkable woman’s primitive instincts and elemental passion of vindictiveness.

Once more, during the Court’s residence at T’ai-yüan, did the Old Buddha and Yü Hsien meet. At this audience, realising the determination of the foreigners to exact the death penalty in this case, and realising also the Governor’s popularity with the inhabitants of T’ai-yüan, she told him, with unmistakable significance, that the price of coffins was rising, a plain but euphemistic hint that he would do well to commit suicide before a worse fate overtook him.

Her Majesty was much gratified at the splendid accommodation provided for her at T’ai-yüan, and particularly pleased to see all the gold and silver vessels and utensils that had been made in 1775 for Ch’ien Lung’s progress to the sacred shrines of Wu-T’ai shan; they had been polished up for the occasion and made a brave show, so that the “Benevolent Countenance” beamed with delight. “We have nothing like this in Peking,” she said.

Jung Lu joined the Court on the day after its arrival at T’ai-yüan, and was most affectionately welcomed by the Old Buddha, to whom he gave a full account of his journey through Chihli and of the widespread devastation wrought by the Boxers. He had previously sent in the following Memorial which clearly reflects those qualities which had endeared him to his Imperial Mistress, and which so honourably distinguished him from the sycophants and classical imbeciles of the Court:—

“At dawn, on the 21st day of the 7th Moon (15th August) your Majesty’s servant proceeded to the Gate of Reverend Peace (inside the Palace), and learned that your Majesties’ sacred chariot had left for the West. While there I came across Ch’ung Ch’i,[106] the President of the Board of Revenue, and we were proposing to hurry after your Majesties, when we learned that the North-Eastern and Northern Gates of the city had fallen. So we left Peking by another gate, my first object being to try and rally some of the troops. But after several conferences with Generals Sung Ch’ing and Tung Fu-hsiang, I was forced to the conclusion that our repeated defeats had been too severe, and that, in the absence of large reinforcements, there was no hope of our being able to take the field again. Our men were in a state of complete panic and had lost all stomach for fighting. I therefore left and came on to Pao-t’ing fu, and lodged there with Ch’ung Ch’i in the “Water Lily” Garden. All night long he and I discussed the situation, hoping to see some way out of the misfortunes which had overtaken the State. Ch’ung Ch’i could not conceal the bitterness of his grief, and on the morning of the next day he hanged himself in one of the outer courtyards, leaving a letter for me in which was enclosed his valedictory Memorial to your Majesties, together with a set of verses written just before his death. These I now forward for your Majesty’s gracious perusal, because I feel that his suicide deserves your pity, just as his high sense of duty merits your praise. He was indeed a man of the purest integrity, and had all the will, though, alas, not the power, to avert the misfortunes which have befallen us. He had always looked upon the magic arts of the Boxers with profound contempt, unworthy even of the effort of a smile from a wise man. At this critical juncture, the loss of my trusted colleague is indeed a heavy blow, but I am compelled to remember that the position which I hold, all unworthily, as your Majesty’s Commander-in-Chief, necessitates my bearing the burden of my heavy responsibilities so long as the breath of life is in my body.

“Such makeshift arrangements as were feasible I made for the temporary disposal of Ch’ung Ch’i’s remains, and I now forward the present Memorial by special courier to your Majesty, informing you of the manner of his decease, because I hold it to be unfitting that his end should pass unnoticed and unhonoured. Your Majesty will, no doubt, determine on the posthumous honours to be accorded to him.

“It is now my intention to proceed, with what speed I may, to T’ai-yüan fu, there to pay my reverent duty to your Majesty and to await the punishment due for my failure to avert these calamities.”

In reply to this Memorial, Tzŭ Hsi conferred high posthumous honours upon Ch’ung Ch’i, praising his loyalty and honesty.

Jung Lu proceeded on his journey, but at a town on the Chihli border his wife took ill and died. She had only joined him at Pao-t’ing fu. The Old Buddha welcomed him with sincere affection upon his arrival at T’ai-yüan and raised his secondary wife, the Lady Liu, to the rank of “Fu Jen” or legitimate consort. (This lady had always had great influence with the Empress Dowager, which increased during the exile of the Court, and became most noticeable after the return to Peking.)

Tzŭ Hsi asked Jung Lu for his advice as to her future policy. Bluntly, as was his wont, he replied “Old Buddha, there is only one way. You must behead Prince Tuan and all the rest of the Princes and Ministers who misled you and then you must return to Peking.”

An incident, vouched for by a high Manchu official attached to the Court, illustrates the relations at this time existing between the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and Jung Lu. When the latter reached T’ai-yüan fu, Kuang-Hsü sent a special messenger to summon him. “I am glad you have come at last,” said His Majesty. “I desire that you will have Prince Tuan executed without delay.”

“How can I do so without the Empress Dowager’s orders?” he replied. “The days are past when no other Decree but your Majesty’s was needed.”[107]

Jung Lu’s position, but for the high favour of the Empress Dowager, would have been full of danger, for he was disliked by reactionaries and reformers alike; surrounded by extremists, his intuitive common sense, his doctrine of the “happy mean” had made him many enemies. Nor could he lay claim to a reputation for that “purest integrity” which he had so greatly admired in his colleague Ch’ung Ch’i. At T’ai-yüan fu, he was openly denounced to the Old Buddha for having connived in the embezzlements of a certain Ch’en Tsê-lin, who had been robbing the military Treasury on a grand scale. Jung Lu had ordered that his defalcations be made good, but subsequently informed the Throne that the money had been captured by the Allies, and the accusing Censor did not hesitate to say that the price of his conversion (brought to his quarters by the hands of a sergeant named Yao) had been forty thousand taels of silver, twenty pounds of best birdnests, and four cases of silk. The Empress Dowager shelved the Memorial, as was her wont, though no doubt she used the information for the ultimate benefit of her privy purse. Jung Lu also received vast sums of money and many valuable presents on his birthday, and at the condolence ceremonies for the death of his wife, so much so that he incurred the fierce jealousy of the chief eunuch Li Lien-ying, who was doing his best at this time to re-feather his own nest, despoiled by the troops of the Allies.

At T’ai-yüan fu, so many officials had joined the Court that intrigues became rife; there was much heartburning as to precedence and status. Those who had borne the burden and heat of the day, the dangers and the hardships of the flight from Peking, claimed special recognition and seniority at the hands of their Imperial Mistress. Each of these thought they should be privileged above those of equal rank who had only rejoined the Court when all danger was past, and still more so above those who were now hurrying up from the provinces in search of advancement.

The chief topic of discussion at audience, and at meetings of the Grand Council, was the question of the Court’s return to Peking, or of the removal of the Capital to one of the chief cities of the South or West. Chang Chih-tung had put in a Memorial, strongly recommending the city of Tang-Yang in Hupei, on account of its central position. One of the arguments gravely put forward by the “scholarly bungler” for this proposal was, that the characters “Tang-Yang” (which mean “facing south”) were in themselves of good augury, and an omen of better days to come, because the Emperor always sits with his face to the south. Chang’s enemies at Court saw in this idea a veiled hint that the Emperor should be restored to power.

But Jung Lu was now _facile princeps_ in the Old Buddha’s counsels, and at audience his colleagues of the Grand Council (Lu Ch’uan-lin and Wang Wen-shao) followed his lead implicitly. He never ceased to advise the Empress to return forthwith to Peking, and, when at a later date she decided on this step, it was rather because of her faith in his sound judgment than because of the many Memorials sent in from other high officials. During the Court’s stay at T’ai-yüan fu, argument on this subject was continual, but towards the end of September rumours reached Her Majesty that the Allies were sending a swift punitive expedition to avenge the murdered missionaries; this decided her to leave at once for Hsi-an fu, where she would feel safe from further pursuit. The Court left accordingly on the 30th September; but as the preservation of “face” before the world is a fundamental principle, with Empresses as with slave-girls, in China, her departure was announced in the following brief Edict:—

“As Shansi province is suffering from famine, which makes it very difficult to provide for our needs, and as the absence of telegraphic communication there causes all manner of inconvenient delays, we are compelled to continue our progress westwards to Hsi-an.”

The journey into Shensi was made with all due provision for the dignity and comfort of their Majesties, but the Empress was overcome by grief _en route_ at the death of Kang Yi, chief patron of the Boxers, and the most bigoted and violent of all the reactionaries near the Throne. He fell ill at a place called Hou Ma, and died in three days, although the Vice-President of the Board of Censors, Ho Nai-ying, obtained leave to remain behind and nurse him. The Old Buddha was most reluctant to leave the invalid, and showed unusual emotion. After his death she took a kindly interest in his son (who followed the Court to Hsi-an) and would frequently speak to him of his father’s patriotism and loyalty.

At Hsi-an fu the Court occupied the Governor’s official residence, into which Her Majesty removed after residing for a while in the buildings formerly set apart for the temporary accommodation of the Viceroy of Kansuh and Shensi on visits of inspection. Both Yamêns had been prepared for Their Majesties’ use; the walls had been painted Imperial red, and the outer Court surrounded with a palisade, beyond which were the quarters of the Imperial Guards, and the makeshift lodgings of the Metropolitan Boards and the officials of the nine Ministries on Palace duty. The arrangements of the Court, though restricted in the matter of space, were on much the same lines as in Peking. The main hall of the “Travelling Palace” was left empty, the side halls being used as ante-chambers for officials awaiting audience. Behind the main hall was a room to which access was given by a door with six panels, two of which were left open, showing the Throne in the centre of the room, upholstered in yellow silk. It was here that Court ceremonies took place. On the left of this room was the apartment where audiences were held daily, and behind this again were the Empress Dowager’s bedroom and private sitting-room. The Emperor and his Consort occupied a small apartment communicating with the Old Buddha’s bedroom, and to the west of these again were three small rooms, occupied by the Heir Apparent. The chief eunuch occupied the room next to that of the Old Buddha on the east side. The general arrangements for the comfort and convenience of the Court were necessarily of a makeshift and provisional character and the Privy Purse was for a time at a low ebb, so that Her Majesty was much exercised over the receipt and safe custody of the tribute, in money and in kind, which came flowing in from the provinces. So long as the administration of her household was under the supervision of Governor Ts’en, the strictest economy was practised; for instance, the amount allowed by him for the upkeep of their Majesties’ table was two hundred taels (about £25) per day, which, as the Old Buddha remarked on one occasion, was about one-tenth of the ordinary expenditure under the same heading at Peking. “We are living cheaply now,” she said; to which the Governor replied, “The amount could still be reduced with advantage.”