The Last Empress

by Anchee Min

  The minister of foreign affairs, I-kuang, was sent to give the legations' residents twenty-four-hour notice to leave Peking, under the protection of Yung Lu's troops. The foreign affairs office in Tientsin and Sir Robert Hart's Chinese customs service were ordered to receive the residents and make arrangements to escort them to safety.

  But the legations refused to abandon their rightful places in China. The Times's George Morrison told legation residents, "If you leave Peking tomorrow, the death of every man, woman and child in this huge unprotected convoy will be on your heads. Your names will go down in history and be known forever as the wickedest, weakest and most pusillanimous cowards who have ever lived!"

  On June 20, a German minister, Baron von Ketteler, was murdered.

  Klemens August von Ketteler was a man of strong views and had a flaming temper, according to those who knew him. Only a few days before his death, he beat a ten-year-old Chinese boy with his lead-weighted walking stick until he was unconscious. The beating took place outside the German legation in full view of witnesses. Ketteler had suspected that the boy was a Boxer. After the beating, the boy was dragged into the legation. By the time the boy's family was informed and went to retrieve him, the boy was dead. The incident infuriated thousands of Chinese, who soon gathered outside the legation looking for revenge.

  I never understood why Ketteler chose to set off in his palanquin at that particular moment, knowing the danger. He and his interpreter were heading toward the Board of Foreign Affairs. Ketteler had told his house staff that he had waited long enough for China's response to the ultimatum and intended to check on the progress himself.

  A crowd of Boxers spotted Ketteler while he jolted toward the Foreign Affairs building. Within moments Ketteler was shot dead at pointblank range. His interpreter was wounded in both legs but was able to drag himself back to the German legation.

  The murder of the German minister marked the beginning of what future historians would call the Siege of the Legations. Amid the mounting violence, the various legations united, and daily their guards fired their rifles, indiscriminately killing innumerable Chinese. Four times the legations' security guards attacked the East Gate of the Forbidden City, but were repulsed by General Tung's troops. Armed legation residents occupied the perimeter walls, which made it harder for Yung Lu's forces to maintain a defensive stance and carry out his mission—to prevent the Boxers from succeeding with the siege.

  It was midnight when I woke to the burning of the Imperial front gate. The fire had been set by the Boxers as a result of a confrontation with Yung Lu's troops, which had been blocking the three "ring" assaults on the legations.

  Next, the vast triple-tiered gateway to central Peking blazed in the darkness, engulfing in its flames the richest quarter of Peking. The Boxers had meant to burn only the shops that sold foreign goods, but in that dust-dry season, everything had been consumed.

  I ordered the palace kitchen to make mounds of dumplings, for I had a procession of ministers, officials and generals tramping in and out at all hours. Dining etiquette was abandoned. Most of the men hadn't sat down for a meal in days. There was no place for plates—my table was covered with maps, messages, drafts and telegrams.

  Now the foreign press, too, went on the attack. The world had be gun calling the siege "the Peking Massacre." The papers howled, "The Dowager Empress wanted the barbarians dead. All of them." So-called anonymous sources had me "directing the murderers" myself.

  "We have been out of touch with the world's reactions since the telegraph wires came down. The repairs are taking too long," I-kuang complained.

  Understanding that the accusations would provide ample excuse to declare war on China, I became extremely nervous. I kept looking at Yung Lu, who sat across from I-kuang.

  "How is Emperor Guang-hsu?" I-kuang asked. "He's been absent from the audiences."

  "Guang-hsu hasn't been feeling well," I replied.

  "Are his wives with him?"

  I found the question odd, but decided to answer anyway. "Empress Lan and the concubines visit His Majesty daily, although my son prefers to be alone."

  I-kuang gave me a quizzical look.

  "Is there something wrong?" I asked.

  "No, but the foreigners have been inquiring after the throne's health. Apparently my answers are no longer satisfactory to them. They suspect that His Majesty has been tortured and left to die." I-kuang paused, then added, "The rumor has appeared in papers around the world."

  "Go and see with your own eyes!" I became enraged. "Pay His Majesty a visit at Ying-t'ai!"

  "The foreign journalists have requested face-to-face interviews..."

  "We will not allow foreign journalists inside the Forbidden City," Yung Lu put in. "They will pick the bones out of an egg no matter what we do."

  "It's getting personal," I-kuang said, handing me a copy of the London Daily Mail.

  "The legations stood together as the sun rose fully," one "eyewitness" told a reporter. "The little remaining band, all Europeans, met death stubbornly, and finally, overcome by overwhelming odds, every one of the Europeans remaining was put to the sword in the most atrocious manner."

  Later, the London Times would publish a special report on a memorial service held at St. Paul's Cathedral for the British legation's "victims." Pages of death notices would be printed. Sir Claude MacDonald —the husband of Lady MacDonald—Sir Robert Hart and the Times's own devoted correspondent George Morrison all lived to read their own obituaries.

  On June 23, General Tung's troops surrounded the three-acre compound of the British legation. His Moslem force tried to break through the north wall, where stood China's elite Hanlin Academy. When all other efforts failed, Tung ordered his soldiers to toss lighted firebrands into the academy, intending to smoke the foreigners out. A strong wind whipped up the flames, which consumed the oldest library in the world.

  Yung Lu watched the Boxers hurl themselves futilely against the legation barricades. No one was aware that Yung Lu, at the age of sixty-five, had fallen ill. He had been hiding his condition from me, and I was too preoccupied to notice. I treated him as if he were made of iron. I did not know that he had only three more years to live.

  Convinced that a massacre at the legations would bring retribution from the Western powers, Yung Lu refused General Tung's demand for more powerful weapons. Yung Lu controlled the only battery of heavy artillery.

  I wondered how Western journalists and their "eyewitnesses" could miss the fact that since the siege began, fewer assaults were made from those sectors held by Yung Lu's troops. It was a known fact that not long before, China had purchased advanced weapons through its diplomatic connections—Robert Hart among others. If those weapons had been used against the legations, their so-called defense, which involved around a hundred men, would have been reduced to rubble within hours.

  On behalf of the Emperor of China, I-kuang held a conference to declare a cease-fire. To the throne's shame, it meant nothing to the legations or the Boxers. The fighting continued.

  General Tung and his Moslem troops changed their strategy: they moved to cut off the legations' supply line. From the Chinese servants who had run away from the legations, we learned that all were short of water and food. The shortage grew critical as the fighting intensified. And besides the wounded, the legations had their share of sick women and children.

  Yung Lu asked for permission to send the legations supplies of water, medicine, food, and other supplies. It was difficult to give my assent, for I knew I would be committing an act of betrayal. The number of casualties among the Boxers and our own troops far exceeded that of the foreigners. Revenge had been the only thought on my people's minds.

  "Do what is necessary," I said to Yung Lu. "I don't want to know the details. In the meantime, I want my people to hear the sound of your cannons firing at the legations."

  Yung Lu understood. By late evening his cannon fire lit up the sky like New Year's fireworks. The shells flew over the roofs and explod
ed in the back gardens of the legations. While the citizens of Peking cheered my action, Yung Lu's relief squad pushed their cartloads of supplies through the no man's land and into the legation compounds.

  Yet my gesture of good faith didn't work. Our requests for the foreigners to vacate the legations were repeatedly ignored.

  The foreigners knew that help had arrived—an international relief force had broken through China's last line of defense at the Taku forts.

  My messengers described the colossal dust clouds wafting up around the mouth of the Taku River. The latest news was that the governor of Chihli had committed suicide. (To add to my stunned surprise, on August 11 his replacement also committed suicide.)

  I lit several candles and sat down before them, my mind clogged with dead thoughts.

  "I have retreated from Ma'to to Chanchiawan," the governor's last report read. "I have seen tens of thousands of troops jamming all the roads. The Boxers fled. As they passed the villages and towns, they plundered, so much so that there was nothing for the armies under my command to purchase, with the result that men and horses were hungry and exhausted. From youth to old age I have experienced many wars, but never saw things like these ... I am doing my best to collect the fleeing troops and I shall fight to my last breath..."

  In a memorandum Yung Lu included a desperate message from Li Hung-chang. It suggested that I send a telegram to the English Queen to "petition that as two old women we should understand each other's difficulties." He also suggested that I send a plea to Tsar Nicholas of Russia and the Emperor of Japan "for help in settling the crisis peacefully."

  I had to give myself credit for having the nerve to follow Li's advice. I outlined the necessity for each country to remain on good terms with China. To Britain the reason was trade; to Japan it was the "Eastern alliance against the West"; to Russia it was "the ancient border dependency and friendship of the two countries."

  What a fool I made of myself.

  42

  At dawn on August 14, 1900, the cat-like cries I heard turned out to be the sound of bullets flying. Fourteen thousand troops, including British, French, Japanese, Russian, German, Italian, Dutch, Austrian, Hungarian, Belgian and American, had invaded. They arrived in Peking by the Tientsin train. General Nieh, who had been sent by Yung Lu to guard the railway from the Boxers, was killed by the Allies.

  I was dressing my hair when the cat cries came. I wondered how there could be so many cats. Then something hit the tip of my wing-shaped roof and broken ornaments crashed into my yard. Moments later a bullet flew through my window. It hit the floor, bounced and rolled. I went to examine it.

  Li Lien-ying rushed in, visibly shaken. "The foreign soldiers have entered, my lady!"

  How is this possible? I thought. Li Hung-chang has supposedly begun negotiations with the Western powers.

  It wasn't until my son came with his wife and concubines that I realized it was the Opium War all over again.

  After I had dressed, I went to see Guang-hsu. He looked frightened. With frantic haste he pulled the pearls off his robe and threw away his red-tasseled hat. Although he had changed from his golden robe into a blue one, the embroidered dragon symbols would make him recognizable. I asked Li Lien-ying to quickly find the Emperor a servant's clothes. Lan, Pearl and Lustrous helped their husband into a long, plain gray coat.

  The sound of bullets over our heads grew louder. I opened my drawers, wardrobes and closets trying to decide what to take and what to leave. I picked out dresses and coats, only to be told by Li Lien-ying that my travel cases were full. It was difficult to part with the carved wooden maiden-case left to me by my mother and Tung Chih's calligraphy practice book.

  Holding my jewelry box, Li Lien-ying directed the work of the eunuchs, who packed whatever they could into carts.

  I took off my jewelry and my jade nail protectors and ordered Li Lien-ying to cut off my long nails.

  When I ordered him to cut my knee-length hair, he wept along with my daughters-in-law.

  After my shortened hair was tied in a bun, he helped me into a peasant's dark blue tunic. I put on a pair of worn shoes.

  Following my example, Lan and Lustrous removed their jewelry, cut their hair and changed into servants' clothes, but Pearl refused. She turned to Guang-hsu and whispered in his ear. My son shook his head and remained silent. Pearl pressed. He shook his head again. Pearl was upset.

  "Why don't you talk to the Emperor after we get out of the city?" I said to Pearl.

  As if she didn't hear me, Pearl continued to press Guang-hsu for a response.

  Guang-hsu hesitated. He glanced around, avoiding my eyes.

  A messenger sent by Yung Lu advised us to depart immediately. As I walked toward the gate, Pearl pulled Guang-hsu aside. They began to walk back to the Forbidden City.

  Li Lien-ying rushed in. "The carriages we ordered are blocked by the Allies! What are we going to do, my lady?"

  "We will have to walk," I replied.

  "The throne is not leaving." Pearl Concubine threw herself on the ground in front of me. With my son standing silently behind her, Pearl let me know then and there that she and Guang-hsu were saying goodbye. Pearl, in a vermilion satin robe with a matching scarf around her neck, was stunningly beautiful, like an autumn maple tree. When she raised her chin, I saw determination in her eyes.

  Li Lien-ying begged me to hurry. "Men are dying trying to defend your exit route, my lady. Bullets are flying and there have been fires and explosions outside the city."

  "You may stay, but my son must come," I said to Pearl.

  "His Majesty the Emperor will stay," the girl challenged.

  Li Lien-ying got between Pearl and me. "Lady Pearl, we either leave now or never! Yung Lu's men are ready to escort the throne!"

  "Pearl, this is not the time," I said, raising my voice.

  "But the throne has made up his mind," Pearl insisted.

  "Get your concubine moving," I told Guang-hsu.

  Loud enough for everyone to hear, Pearl yelled, "Fleeing is humiliating and it will imperil the empire!"

  "Control yourself, Pearl," I said.

  "Emperor Guang-hsu has the right to defend the honor of the dynasty!"

  "The Emperor can talk for himself!" I replied angrily.

  "His Majesty is too frightened of his mother to speak his mind."

  I asked Pearl to stop embarrassing herself. "I understand that the pressure is almost too much to bear. I promise to listen once we get out of the city and reach safer ground."

  "No!" Pearl shouted. "Emperor Guang-hsu and I would like to request our release."

  "Pearl Concubine! What are you—"

  Before I could finish, a shell exploded in the middle of the courtyard. The earth shook. Both wings of my palace roof collapsed.

  Amid clouds of dust, eunuchs and ladies in waiting screamed and ran to hide.

  Pearl and I stood face to face in the center of the courtyard, engulfed in dust. Guang-hsu stood a few yards away, distraught and steeped in guilt. I realized what Pearl was up to: she believed that the Western powers had come to rescue Guang-hsu. To Pearl, my departure meant Guang-hsu's restoration to power.

  Under any other circumstances, I would have considered Pearl's request. I might even have admired her daring. But at this moment all I could see was Pearl's lack of perspective and consideration for my own and my son's safety.

  In a way I felt sorry for Pearl, for she trusted in a strength of character Guang-hsu didn't possess. She saw who he might become instead of who he was.

  "Take her with us," I instructed Li Lien-ying.

  Several eunuchs began to tie Pearl up. She struggled, calling Guang-hsu for help.

  He just looked on in despair.

  "Guang-hsu," Pearl yelled, "you are the ruler of China, not your mother! The Western powers have promised to treat you with respect. Stand up for yourself!"

  Li Lien-ying emptied a cart and the eunuchs hoisted Pearl into it like a sack of rice.

  I ordered m
y son to get into his palanquin, and he obeyed.

  Again we began to leave.

  Smoke filled the air. The kitchen woks and lids clanged loudly as the bearers walked quickly toward the gate.

  The eunuchs pushed the carts while the ladies in waiting walked alongside, carrying my belongings in baskets and cotton bags.

  We didn't get far. Before we reached my own gate, Pearl broke free of the cart and ran toward Guang-hsu's palanquin. She pulled down his curtain and hit her head on the side of his palanquin, knocking down one of the bearers.

  I stopped my palanquin and yelled her name. I made it clear that she was not going to stay behind.

  The girl kissed Guang-hsu's feet, and then in a sudden motion she sprang back toward the Forbidden City.

  Li Lien-ying took off after her.

  "Leave her alone!" I called.

  "My lady, Pearl is running toward the East Gate, where the foreign troops are."

  "Let her," I said.

  "She could be raped by the foreign soldiers!" "It is her choice."

  "My lady, Lady Pearl might also mean to jump into the well."

  Against all reason, I ordered our palanquins to turn around. We went after Pearl, back into the city, heading toward the well. We were not fast enough. In front of my eyes, Pearl leapt. But the well opening was too small. Pearl struggled, using her own weight to pull herself down.

  "Guang-hsu!" I screamed.

  Hiding inside his palanquin, my son made no response. He didn't know what was going on, or didn't want to know.

  Using a knife, Li Lien-ying cut loose the longest bamboo stick of my palanquin. With the help of the other eunuchs, the stick was lowered down the well.

  Li Lien-ying threw in a rope.