by Poon, Alice;
Silence fell on the lounge.
“I have heard,” Bumbutai said gently, “of a brilliant captain named Zuo who has won many battles in the South. Prince Jirgalang, can you not tell me whether my memory still serves me well?”
“You are certainly right, Venerable Empress Dowager,” replied Jirgalang. “He is the captain of a naval fleet under the Green Standard Army.”
“Can he be trusted to lead a counterattack on Zheng?”
“In my humble opinion, there’s no better choice for a naval commander,” he replied, the relief clear in his tone. “All we need to do is to back him up with artillery, ammunition and men.”
“How fast can reinforcements reach Nanjing?”
“I would say at most ten days. Our men and supplies in Nanjing are adequate for the city to hold out for longer than that without reinforcements in the event of a siege.”
She turned to her son. “Would Your Imperial Highness see fit to reconsider your options?”
Shunzhi, though pleased that his mother had found a solution to the dilemma, still insisted on taking the role of Chief Commander, lest he should be mocked for backing down. At this moment, the wet nurse threw herself down on her knees in front of him, begging him between sobs not to risk his life. Shunzhi had always loved his wet nurse, but he knew how ludicrous it was for such a lowly woman to interrupt discussions of grave matters of state and, his nerves already frayed, he raised his sword threateningly, scaring the poor woman into scrambling her way out of the lounge.
Then Schall von Bell entered the lounge and made obeisance to the Emperor and the Empress Dowager. He had been briefed by Sumalagu about the situation, and when Shunzhi saw the kindly priest, his nerves calmed. In a tired voice, he asked for von Bell’s opinion on the present debate. After ruminating for a while, the priest looked straight at the Emperor and responded in fluent Chinese:
“Your Imperial Highness, you are the supreme head of the Qing Empire and as such, you have an obligation to your subjects. That obligation is in the form of their expectations for you to keep safe in times of turmoil so that you can be an effective leader providing guidance and instructions from the capital. I dare say they would be very disappointed if they were to see you risk your life unnecessarily.” He paused for a moment and, seeing the Emperor listening intently, continued.
“Looking at the matter from another viewpoint, I should congratulate Your Imperial Highness on having so many valiant and loyal generals who would readily give up their lives to protect you, the Empress Dowager, and the entire Empire. Why not, then, allow them to fulfill their patriotic duty, so that you can at the same time show your subjects that the state is in good hands at all levels?”
With those wise words from the Jesuit, Shunzhi was able to climb down from his untenable position without embarrassment. He issued an edict appointing Zuo as Naval Commander and Jirgalang as Chief Commander to defend Nanjing and to mount a counterattack against Zheng Chenggong.
Bumbutai breathed a sigh of relief. When the meeting was all over and all Councillors and Shunzhi were gone, she went over to the German priest who, at her request, had stayed behind.
“Father,” she said with a grateful smile, “I wish to thank you on behalf of the Emperor and of the Empire.”
“Venerable Highness, I beg you not to mention it,” replied the humble priest. “I was merely speaking the truth. In reality, I owe you and the Emperor a heavy debt of gratitude for your continuous support of the Jesuit mission in your esteemed Empire, which I can never hope to repay. There is nothing I wish for other than the Empire’s continued stability and prosperity.”
“I have always admired your wisdom and am so glad that you have had such a positive influence on the Emperor. He has not been quite himself since the death of his fourth son. Added to his sorrow is the constant worry about the protracted illness of the boy’s mother. This inauspicious news of insurgence in the South is just too much for him at this time.” Bumbutai talked unreservedly as to an old friend.
“I can indeed empathize with the Emperor over his unfortunate loss,” the priest replied. “I will pray for His Imperial Highness, for the soul of his lost son and for the sick mother.”
“Thank you, Father, for your kindness. We appreciate your help so much. You will always be my son’s Mafa, and if there’s anything we could do to help your mission, please do let us know.”
“May God bless you for your kind heart, Venerable Highness.”
By the early part of the eighth month, the Qing forces had laid a long sturdy iron chain across the lower Yangtze River, fortified with wooden rafts to form a barricade to protect the riverside towns, but Zheng’s fleet of two hundred and ninety warships and 100,000 men breached it by axing the chain and setting fire to the wooden rafts, and seized several forts. Their next target would be Nanjing, a short distance further upstream.
At this juncture, opinions diverged among Zheng’s generals as to whether to stage a siege or mount an outright attack. Zheng himself was in favor of an attack to keep up the momentum, but his plans were upset when a fierce storm blew up, killing eight thousand of his men, sinking forty of his warships and causing severe damage to many others. Also, the strong winds made it impossible for his fleet to sail upstream. His men raced to repair their ships and hauled them along the riverbanks. It took a half a month more for the fleet to reach its destination, which provided ample time for Jirgalang’s reinforcements to quietly reach Nanjing in the interim.
Towards the end of the month, in a ruse to give Zheng a wrong impression, Commander Zuo sent a letter to Zheng saying that Nanjing would be able to hold on for about a month and would then have to surrender. So Zheng and his men, exhausted from their battle with the elements, were content to maintain their blockade. Commander Zuo infiltrated a few of his men into the enemy’s ships, and on the eighth day of the ninth month, a major sortie was made from within Nanjing via a secret passage through the city walls and inflicted heavy casualties on Zheng’s forces. The next day, another attack was mounted just as Zuo’s agents ignited explosives on board many of Zheng’s ships. Mayhem ensued and Zuo’s men launched an all-out attack which forced Zheng’s ships to retreat down the river and ultimately flee to Taiwan. It was thus that the Qing Empire’s last great enemy was defeated. The last Pretender to the Ming throne, Yongli, fled to Burma after the Battle of Nanjing, and was finally captured by Wu Sangui four years later and executed.
When the news of victory reached Beijing, Bumbutai instructed that a portion of her birthday presents be taken out from the Court’s treasury chest and exchanged for silver. In the Emperor’s name, she distributed the proceeds as rewards to all soldiers who had fought in the Battle of Nanjing.
Previously, she had already donated her own funds on several occasions as relief to help peasants who had fallen victims either to floods or drought in various provinces. She would, as a habit, have general items around her repaired rather than replaced, and would ordinarily only wear clothes made of cotton and hemp. Silk and satin were reserved only for ceremonial occasions. Thus she could always put aside some of her monthly stipends for other purposes. Consort Donggo had always been a fervent follower of hers in leading a frugal life, which was one of the reasons that Bumbutai cared for her so much.
Donggo’s illness took a turn for the worse in the autumn of the following year. She was now permanently bedridden and was unable to do the daily rituals of obeisance at Cining Palace. Her absence caused Bumbutai much anguish.
Shunzhi had long been depressed over Donggo’s sickness and could only find solace by escaping into the world of Zen through chanting and endless conversations with monks. One day, during his daily visit to her, Donggo said to him in a barely audible voice:
“Your Imperial Highness, I wish to thank you with all my heart for the love you have given to me, a woman so unworthy of you. If I may, I would like to ask you to do me one favor after I am gon
e. Please do not let them dress me in luxurious garments or put any jewelry in my coffin. A simple hemp dress is all I need.” She paused to take a deep breath, and then took Shunzhi’s hands in hers.
“Please promise me that you won’t grieve after I’m gone,” she continued. “You would not want to let your mother worry about you, and the affairs of state need all your attention….. If you love me, I would ask that you also grant me this wish…. that you will show mercy on criminals sentenced to death……” She paused again briefly before carrying on:
“When the Ministers and Court Officials send in funeral offerings, please donate them to the poor peasants. It is the least that I can do to help them.”
“I promise that I will do as you wish…. Only I cannot bear to be without you.” Shunzhi’s effort to hold back his tears failed, and he wept uncontrollably. His tears had a contagious effect on Donggo, hitherto calm and collected, and she too melted in tears.
“My dearest, you must not feel sad,” she implored him. “I am only going to a place where I can be with our son. I will be so happy to see him again.” A faint smile appeared on her tear-scored face and having finished what she had to say, she leaned weakly on Shunzhi’s shoulder and wearily closed her eyes.
On the nineteenth day of the eighth lunar month, at the age of twenty-one, Imperial Noble Consort Donggo departed from the world in peace. Pain-stricken, Shunzhi’s whole frame shook as he watched the last flicker of life extinguished from her emaciated face. In a fit of illusion, he saw Donggo dressed in her favorite pale blue floral robe with dark blue borders and a white skirt floating through the air towards him, holding in her arms their son swaddled in yellow cloth. He stepped forward and stretched out his arms to embrace them, but they dissipated without a trace. Forced back to the real world, he broke down, wailing.
On the third day after her death, still in a state of torpor, Shunzhi issued an edict to bestow the posthumous title of Empress on the Imperial Noble Consort. This obviously went against the Imperial rites, as there was already an Empress alive and well. But no one dared to point this out to the Emperor, who had abstained from attending Court for three days in a row. For the following four months, he used blue ink instead of black to mark Court documents as a sign of mourning for the Consort, something traditionally only applied to the passing of Empress Dowagers with a duration of usually one month.
Twenty-two
Bumbutai too was devastated by the death of this beloved daughter-in-law, whom she had treated like her own daughter. She had been counting on her being a constructive influence on Shunzhi, as well as his emotional prop. But with that hope dashed, she didn’t dare to guess if her son, hardly recovered from mourning his own son’s death, could survive the blow. Eternal Blue Sky sometimes could be so brutal, but its doings were not to be argued with. With this train of thought, she went over to the Princes’ Residence to visit seven-year-old Fuquan and six-year-old Xuanye.
When she entered the garden, she found Xuanye playing hide-and-seek with Fuquan. As soon as he spotted her, he scampered over with a big smile on his face. He was always happy to see his Nana and loved to have her tell him stories. He stretched out his little hand to hold his Nana’s and led her into his study to show her his Chinese calligraphy.
Looking at his little roundish face dotted with pockmarks and his endearing big dark eyes, she couldn’t but be smitten with him. She had always tried to show affections equally to the two boys, but in her heart, she couldn’t deny that Xuanye was the one she preferred. He had such a prodigious memory that by now he could already answer most questions posed to him on The Analects, and he could recite scores of Tang poems.
When his Nana had visited him last time, she had told him about the secret journal of Genghis Khan and he had nagged her to let him read the book in the Manchu script as she had agreed.
“Nana, did you bring me the secret journal?” he eagerly asked in his childish lisp.
“What do you think?” She teased him lightly. “Do you think Nana has a bad memory?” She recalled, looking at his face, how terrified she had been when he had fallen ill with smallpox the previous year.
“I know Nana never forgets things,” he replied, swinging her hand to and fro with excitement.
“But you have to answer a question first. If your answer is correct, the journal will be yours to keep. But if it’s wrong, you won’t have it this time. What do you say?”
“Ask away, Nana!”
“Who was the best archer in the Borjigit family in the times of Temujin?”
“Hmm… Oh, I know! It’s Khasar. Nana, you told me he was Temujin’s brother and our ancestor.” The child never missed a thing that he heard from his Nana. His mind was a sponge, absorbing everything it came into contact with, and Mongolian stories always caught his fancy.
“And what did his family call him?
“Habutu Khasar! I want to be a Habutu too!”
“You’ve answered very well, Xuanye. Here’s your reward.” Bumbutai retrieved the booklet from her sleeve and handed it to the child. Her heart, which had been sorrow-laden, found comfort in just talking with her beloved grandson.
“Nana, yesterday I played lasso on horseback with Fuquan. Can you guess who won the game?”
“No doubt it was you, Xuanye. You always win. But you have to remember to be considerate to your brother too. “
“I know, Nana. Sometimes, I let him win.”
“How are your Mongolian language lessons coming along? You’re proficient in Chinese and Manchu, but don’t neglect Mongolian.” Bumbutai had insisted on the appointment of reputable Chinese scholars to give literature and history lessons to her grandchildren, while letting Sumalagu teach them Manchu.
“My Mongolian teacher always falls asleep while giving lessons,” Xuanye replied. “So I’m only learning very slowly.”
“Would you like Nana to help you, then?”
“Yes, yes, Nana. I love to hear your stories.”
“Alright. What story did you want me to tell you today?”
“The story of how Temujin made Jamuka his brother! Please don’t begin yet, Nana. I’ll get Fuquan to come and listen too.”
“After I’ve told you the story, you two will have to practice writing the Mongolian script.”
Bumbutai spent the rest of the afternoon telling her grandsons stories that she had heard from her grandfather when she was a child, and also teaching them the Mongolian language. It was a much needed distraction for her.
As promised, the monk Yu Lin sent his favorite disciple, Mao, to stay at the Emperor’s South Park Retreat. He arrived just a few days before Donggo passed away and Shunzhi gave orders for Mao to conduct a Land and Sea Spiritual Valediction ritual in which he would lead a group of one hundred and eight monks in an incantation meant to bid farewell to the Consort’s soul and to send it on its way to the other world.
The casket had earlier been carried to a temporary sepulcher on Prospect Hill, just beyond the Gate of Divine Might, the main northern entrance to the Imperial Palace. The pall bearers were all high-ranked Ministers and Bannermen.
On the day of the ritual, one group of twelve psalm-chanting monks circled round and round the white silk-draped casket laid on a bier near the sepulcher, while eight other groups stood in rows on each side, waiting their turns. Large quantities of paper offerings and incense were burnt in an open furnace. Mao stood behind an altar placed next to the bier, on which were placed burning joss-sticks and candles. Chanting unceasingly, he occasionally picked up a small brass bell and tapped it, creating a penetrating tone that was supposed to call forth the soul of the dead so that the incantations could lead it to that mythical place where it could be reincarnated.
On the twenty-first day after Donggo’s passing, just a few days after the Valediction ritual, the casket and bier were to be cremated in accordance with Manchu traditions. On this day, Shunzhi was
present at the ritual, accompanied by Schall von Bell. The Emperor had barely slept for the past fortnight, and his body was stiff with pain and distress, his face haggard and sallow. Mao and the other monks began the ritual with chants, after which Mao threw a burning torch onto the bier which was covered with dry brushwood. Watching the conflagration, the Emperor was suddenly beset with a paroxysm of hysteria. He sobbed and laughed, he shouted that Consort Donggo would need maids and other underlings to serve her, and ordered thirty maids and eunuchs to be sent on their way with the Consort. Mao dropped on his knees before the Emperor and begged him to retract the order, saying it would be a grave sin. The German priest also stepped forward and joined Mao in trying to restrain the Emperor from his impulsive act.
At this time, Xuanye, on his Nana’s prompt, came before his father and handed him the scroll of the painting on which Donggo had penned a poem on that day they had viewed the cherry blossoms together. As if waking up from a nightmare, Shunzhi embraced the scroll and wept aloud, heaving a cathartic groan. His repressed sorrow relieved, he finally recovered himself and expressed remorse over his momentary madness. Everyone present drew a deep breath of relief.
Shunzhi spent the following month writing a four-thousand-word eulogy for his beloved Consort, in which he described in emotional detail all her virtuous qualities, substantiated by intimate anecdotes. He even ordered Court officials under the Ministry of Documents to write an official memoir for the Consort and to keep it with the Court’s historical records. With such an order, he was setting yet another precedent in Chinese Imperial history.
When Bumbutai read the touching and candid eulogy, in which her son poured out his heart, she could not hold back her tears. As a mother, she could feel the depth of pain he suffered. There was not a day from then on when she didn’t fear that her son might collapse under the weight of inconsolable grief. She knew better than anyone else that her son’s sensitive fibers were not made to withstand such brutal torment.