by Henry Pu Yi
When the Minister saw the size of my entourage he realized that the three rooms he had set aside for me were inadequate to accommodate us, and he cleared a whole building in the Legation Compound for us to live in. There was thus room for everyone, from Companions of the Southern Study and senior officials of the Household Department to the dozens of attendants, eunuchs, ladies-in-waiting, maids and kitchen help. In this way the essential administrative offices of the Great Ch’ing Emperor functioned once more within the Japanese Legation.
A group of princes led by my father came to try to persuade me to return to the Northern Mansion. They said it was now safe. But I refused to go.
Upon seeing the enthusiasm with which the Japanese Legation looked after me, many Ch’ing veterans who were previously unknown to me were stirred into action. They sent telegrams from all over the country asking the Chief Executive, Tuan Chi-jui, to restore the original Articles of Favorable Treatment; they sent me contributions to cover my expenses and some of them even came to Peking to pay their respects and offer me advice. Meanwhile the Ch’ing princes and high officials refused to take part in the meetings of the Committee for the Readjustment of the Affairs of the Ch’ing House. This committee, which had been formed to take an inventory of Ch’ing property and divide it into my public and private possessions in accordance with the Revised Articles, held no real meetings. Shao Ying, the head of the Household Department, and the three other Ch’ing members of the committee followed up their refusal to attend its meetings with a public announcement that they did not recognize it.
As time went on, more and more former Ch’ing officials, both young and old, came to the Japanese Legation every day to show their loyalty, pay their respects, present money and explain their “grand strategies for restoration.” On Chinese New Year’s Day my small living room was filled with queues. I sat facing south in imperial style on a Western-type chair that substituted for a throne and received congratulations.
Many of the retired officials were full of gratitude for my Japanese hosts. They saw grounds for hope in the reception I received from the Legation or at least drew psychological satisfaction from it. Thirteen days after Chinese New Year came my twentieth birthday, by Chinese reckoning.25
Since I was in a stranger’s house I had not intended to celebrate my birthday, but my host was determined to please me and offered me the main hall of the Legation in which to receive congratulations. The hall was specially furnished for the occasion with expensive carpets, and behind an armchair with imperial yellow cushions that served as a throne stood a glass screen covered with imperial yellow paper. All the servants and attendants wore Ch’ing hats with red tassels. Over a hundred former Ch’ing officials came from Tientsin, Shanghai, Kwangtung and Fukien for the birthday celebrations which were also attended by members of the Diplomatic Corps, princes, high officials and local Ch’ing veterans, making a total of over 500 people.
I wore a blue silk robe and a black satin jacket for the occasion, and all the princes, court officials and Ch’ing veterans wore the same attire. Apart from this, the ceremonial procedures were much as they had been in the Forbidden City. Imperial yellow, queues and ninefold kowtows were all employed and they created an atmosphere that gave me a feeling of anguish and melancholy. Afterward, I made an impromptu speech of thanks.
An unusual incident occurred on that day. While the third group of Ch’ing officials were performing their nine-kowtow ceremony, I heard a strange shrieking and crying from one of them. Immediately thereafter I saw a man cover his face with his sleeve. He cried aloud as he walked out and I thought perhaps he had injured his eye. He was recognized as a high official of the Household Department, Chin Liang, but no one seemed to know why he had cried aloud.
The following day, however, when an item appeared in the press containing one of his poems, we realized that the reason he had made the scene on the previous day was to prepare us for the publication of his poetry.
About the time of my birthday celebration the press was full of attacks on me and my group. Disapproval expressed itself in various ways: small satirical items, direct accusations regarding my pro-Japanese tendencies, well-meaning advice, and criticism of the pomp and show of my court. The newspapers also printed many revelations regarding my selling and mortgaging of palace antiquities. When I look at them today I realize how different my life would have been if I had accepted a single one of these criticisms.
While living in the Japanese Legation I went for several bicycle rides at night out of curiosity, taking one or two servants with me. On one of these trips I rode as far as the moat outside the Forbidden City and as I looked at the silhouette of the turrets and battlements I thought of the Mind Nurture Palace and the Cloudless Heaven Palace that I had so recently left and of my throne and of imperial yellow. A desire for revenge and restoration welled up in my heart. My eyes filled with tears as I resolved that I would return at some future time as a victorious monarch just as the first of my line had done. I also decided that it would not do for me to continue to live in the Legation, that I should at least start making preparations for my future. My earlier wish to go to Japan to study was revived, and although the Minister had no opinion on the matter, one of the Legation secretaries with whom I discussed the idea was very enthusiastic.
Not long after this, Lo Chen-yu informed me that he had arranged with one of the Legation officials that I should complete my preparations for going abroad in Tientsin since it was not convenient for me to remain at the Legation. It would be best, he explained, for me to find a house in the Japanese concession in Tientsin since the one I already owned, which was in the British concession, was not suitable. This seemed sensible enough to me, especially since I wished to see the big city of Tientsin. I therefore agreed to go at once and sent a Companion of the Southern Study to find me a house in the Japanese concession there. A few days later Lo Chen-yu told me that the Chang Garden, which was the house I finally selected, was ready and that since Feng’s Army was in the process of changing its garrisons along the railroad we should at once take this opportunity to move. The Japanese Minister Yoshizawa approved and sent for the Police Chief of the Japanese Consulate General in Tientsin. He arrived in Peking accompanied by several plainclothes policemen to escort me during the trip. Once I was safely in Tientsin it was arranged that my wives would follow me.
At 7 P.M. on February 23, 1925, I took my leave of the Japanese Minister and his wife. We posed for photographs, I thanked them, and they wished me a safe journey. I then left by the back gate of the Legation with a Japanese official and some plainclothes policemen as guards and we walked together to the Chienmen Railway Station. Here I met my tutor Lo Chen-yu and his son. At every stop between Peking and Tientsin several Japanese policemen and special agents in black suits would get on the train so that, by the time we reached Tientsin, my special car was almost half occupied by them. As I got out of the train I was met by the Japanese Consul General in Tientsin, Shigeru Yoshida, and several dozen officers and men of the Japanese garrison who escorted me from the train. Three days later the press carried a statement issued by the Japanese Legation in Peking declaring that the sudden nocturnal departure of the former Ch’ing Emperor had been the result of the unstable situation there and that the provisional government of China had been notified of it the following day.
14
Tientsin
UPON MY ARRIVAL AT TIENTSIN26 I FOUND THAT Lo CHEN-YU had not told me the exact truth when he had said that my house was suitably prepared, and I therefore had to stay for one day at the Yamato Hotel. The next day Wan Jung and Wen Hsiu, as well as the others who had been in the Japanese Legation with me, arrived and we all moved into the hastily furnished Chang Garden.
The Chang Garden covered over three acres and included a large two-story house in the center. Originally used as an amusement park, it belonged to a former Manchu general who would not accept any rent for it from me, and at first, every day, personally swept the yard as a sign of lo
yalty. I stayed in the Chang Garden for five years, but after his death I moved to the Quiet Garden when his son assumed the face of a landlord and asked me for rent.
My reason for coming to Tientsin had been to enable me to voyage abroad, but I ended up by spending seven years there, seven years in which I wavered back and forth between different factions among my advisers. The princes, my father included, had far less power over me, and Johnston, who had returned to Wei-hai-wei, ceased to be my tutor. He did, however, visit me in 1926 and canvassed unsuccessfully for support for me from the war lord Wu Pei-fu and others. Later he returned to England, was knighted, and became a professor at the University of London.
One could divide the people who struggled to win my favor in those seven years into various groups. There were the “old ministers” led by Chen Pao-shen who at first hoped for the restoration of the Articles of Favorable Treatment and later were content with the status quo. They could be called the “back to the palace” faction. Another group around Lo Chen-yu put their hopes in my going abroad and in getting help from foreign countries, principally Japan; they could be considered as the “ally with Japan” or “going abroad” faction, and they included retired Ch’ing officials as well as one or two of the Manchu princes, such as Pu Wei. A third group, of which I was the leading figure, thought the best method was to get in touch with and “buy up” the war lords. This “employing military men” group was rather heterogeneous and included retired Ch’ing officials and Republican politicians.
When Cheng Hsiao-hsu, who had unsuccessfully sought to reorganize the Household Department, came back to my service, he did not attach himself to any clique. He seemed both to praise and to attack the proposals which the others put forward; then he would suggest ideas that none of them had brought up, such as the use of foreign advisers and an open-door policy of cooperating with any country that was willing to help me in a restoration, but his suggestions were opposed by all the other factions. Later, when he finally adopted the policy of relying on Japan, he overcame all his old rivals including Lo Chen-yu, who had from the beginning been the leader of the pro-Japanese clique.
I was able to associate with as many war lords as I liked during my seven years in Tientsin, and they all gave me illusions—some more, some less. In a letter Wu Pei-fu described himself as a servant, Chang Tso-lin kowtowed to me, and on his own initiative Tuan Chi-jui requested an audience with me. Those in whom I had the highest hopes were the Manchurian or Fengtien war lords, and it was with them that I associated most closely. This began when Chang Tso-lin kowtowed to me.
One day in June, 1925, after I had arrived in Tientsin, my father-in-law Jung Yuan came to tell me in great excitement that Chang Tso-lin had sent a trusted envoy to give me $100,000 and to tell me that Chang hoped he would be able to meet me in the house where he was staying. I refused to go to see him on the advice of my tutor Chen Pao-shen, but, to my surprise, Jung Yuan brought Chang’s envoy again the following night. The man insisted that I would be in no danger in Chinese territory, and explained that it was not convenient for Chang Tso-lin to enter the concession and that was why he was repeating his invitation. Without telling anyone else I got into an automobile and set off.
That early summer evening was the first time I had ventured out of the Japanese concession. When I arrived at the Tsao Family Garden, where Chang Tso-lin was staying, I saw a strange guard of honor—tall soldiers dressed in gray who carried ancient swords and spears as well as modern rifles. The car passed slowly between their double ranks from the main gate to the house.
When I got out of the car I was led into a brightly lit hall, where a very short man with a moustache wearing civilian clothes came toward me. I recognized him at once as Chang Tso-lin, and hesitated since I did not know how to greet him. This was the first time I had sought out an important Republican figure and Jung Yuan had given me no instructions. But to my astonishment, Chang knelt on the floor without a moment’s pause and kowtowed, saying, “How is Your Majesty?”
“How are you, Marshal?” I replied as I helped him to his feet and we walked toward the reception room together. I was in very good spirits and grateful for what he had just done to end my uneasy feeling that I had lowered my dignity by coming to see him. What made me even more pleased, of course, was to discover that this very powerful and influential man had not forgotten the past.
The room was furnished expensively in a melange of furniture that included Chinese hardwood tables and chairs, Western-style sofas, and a modern glass screen. We sat down at a round table facing each other and Chang Tso-lin started talking as he smoked one cigarette after another. No sooner had he opened his mouth than he started to curse Feng Yu-hsiang for forcing me out of the Forbidden City in order to get at the palace treasures. He himself, he claimed, attached the greatest importance to the preservation of China’s ancient culture and riches, had looked after the Ch’ing palace in Fengtien very well and was planning to get possession of a set of the famous Four Libraries of books, which had been made at the orders of the Emperor Chien Lung (1707—1799), so that he could preserve them in their entirety. He said in a reproachful tone that I should not have fled to the Japanese Legation at a time when he had plenty of troops in Peking who could have ensured my safety. He asked me about my life since my departure from Peking and said that I had only to tell him if I wanted anything.
I said that I was well aware of how thoughtful he had been on my behalf, but since Feng’s men were still in Peking, I had been forced to flee to the Japanese Legation. I went on to observe that I had known how well the imperial palaces and mausoleums in Mukden had been looked after and that I appreciated his understanding and sentiments.
“If Your Majesty would like to come up to our Mukden and live in the palace there, it would be quite possible for me to arrange it.”
“Marshal Chang, you are too kind. . . .”
But Marshal Chang then changed the subject to my daily life. “If you need anything from now on just write to me.”
The only thing I lacked was a throne, but I could scarcely say so in so many words while I was talking to him. During our conversation we were alone in the room except for a swarm of flies, and it occurred to me that there were never flies in the middle of the night in the concession.
An aide-de-camp came in after a while and said, “The Chief of Staff wants to see you, sir,” Chang Tso-lin waved his hand and said, “There’s no hurry. Tell him to wait for me.”
I immediately got up and said that I would be going since he must be very busy. He replied at once, “No hurry, no hurry,” but at that point I caught a glimpse of a woman’s face behind the screen (I learned later that this was his fifth concubine) and I felt that he must really be busy. I took my leave of him again and this time he did not try to keep me.
When I had left the concession I had been accompanied by one of the plainclothes Japanese policemen who were stationed at the Chang Garden. Apparently, Chang Tso-lin had not noticed him standing beside my car, for as he saw me off he said in a loud voice:
“If those damn Japs put a finger on you, let me know and I’ll sort them out for you.”
The following morning, the Japanese Consul General delivered the following warning: “If Your Majesty makes another secret trip to Chinese territory, the Japanese Government will no longer be able to guarantee your safety.”
My relations with the Fengtien war lords had been growing closer, and after my meeting with Chang Tso-lin they were entirely in the open. When they came to the Chang Garden the etiquette observed was no longer that of the Forbidden City: they did not kowtow to me and I did not confer upon them the right to ride a horse or be carried in a sedan chair at court. They merely bowed or shook hands, and then we would behave as equals; and I did not affect the style of an Emperor when writing to them. The closeness of the relationship between me and the Fengtien generals would be decided by their attitude toward my restoration.
In 1928 Chang Tso-lin was murdered by the Japanese. I la
ter heard that the reason they killed him was because he was becoming less amenable to their demands because he was under the influence of his son, the “Young Marshal” Chang Hsueh-liang, who wanted to break with Japan and make friends with the United States. Although this murder frightened me, and some of the retired Ch’ing officials regarded it as an object lesson, it did not deter me from my course because I did not regard myself in the same class as Chang Tso-lin. He, after all, was a military commander for whom a substitute could easily be found. But I was the Emperor, and the Japanese could not find another one in the whole of China. As my advisers explained: “The Japanese are strong enough to take Manchuria by force, but if they My Exile did so they would not be capable of running it; without Your Majesty on the throne they will find it very difficult to achieve anything.” I was completely convinced that Japan recognized these facts, and built my policy on this assumption as well as the necessity of winning the hearts of the people of the Northeast.
15
Mausoleums and the Japanese
THE YEAR 1928 WAS ONE OF EXCITEMENT—A YEAR THAT made me both sad and happy. On the one hand, the Japanese issued a statement prohibiting Chinese troops from entering Manchuria or Mongolia and sent Japanese soldiers to Shantung Province to block the northward advance of Chiang Kai-shek’s Kuomintang forces. On the other, the armies of Chang Tso-lin, Wu Pei-fu and Chang Tsung-chang, the war lords with whom I had connections, crumbled away in a series of defeats. Although my tutors and the Japanese advised me that since the Kuomintang was carrying out a major purge of Communist members the threat to me from “raging floods and wild beasts” seemed diminished, they informed me at the same time that I was in imminent danger and that my enemies were operating everywhere. But the event that gave me the biggest shock was the plundering of the Eastern Mausoleums by Sun Tien-ying.