The Last Manchu

by Henry Pu Yi

  The Chief of Personnel said: “If one wishes to talk about equality one must find out if ability is or is not equal. Since the Japanese have greater ability, naturally their salaries should be higher. Besides, the Japanese standard of living is higher. They were born to eat white rice; they cannot live on sorghum like the people of Manchukuo.”

  Upon hearing this, all the Ministers indicated their dissatisfaction and the meeting adjourned. The following day, when it was reconvened, the Japanese Bureau Director explained that he had analyzed the matter, and, with the approval of the Kwantung Army, all the ministerial salaries would be raised to the same level as the Deputy Ministers. But, since the Japanese were away from their homes and had come abroad to establish a Kingly Way Paradise for the Manchurian people, the Manchurians should gratefully give them a special living allowance. This decision was final and there could be no further discussion.

  When the Ministers heard this, they realized it would do them no good to continue the argument, especially since their own salaries had been increased. But after this affair, the truth of the cabinet system and the Council of State was evident to everyone. All resolutions at the Council of State were already decisions passed on by the Deputy Minister’s Conference which was held regularly each Tuesday. But real power was in the hands of the Director of the General Affairs Administration Bureau of the Kwantung Army. Cheng and I were Prime Minister and Chief Executive in name only; the Cabinet officers were Ministers in name only; and the Council of State was a Council in name only.

  All this was no secret to anyone, and I should have been awakened from my dream. But the courtiers around me kept reminding me that I was the most important man in Manchukuo. This made it hard for me to forget the rationalizations, formed in Tientsin in the Chang Garden, that “Japan, without me as Emperor, would not be capable of running Manchuria and would achieve nothing.”

  21

  The Treaty

  WHEN WE WERE FIRST IN PORT ARTHUR, CHENG HSIAO-HSU had negotiated with Honjo the conditions under which I would take office as Chief Executive and the provisions for his own status as Prime Minister. This understanding was not reported to me until the eve of Honjo’s departure from Manchukuo. On August 18, 1932, Cheng came to my office with a heap of documents. “This,” he explained, “is an agreement that your humble servant has made with General Honjo. I request Your Majesty to approve.” As soon as I saw what it was I was furious.

  “Who asked you to negotiate this agreement?” I asked.

  “These are all conditions that Itagaki stipulated in Port Arthur,” he replied with considerable formality. “Itagaki informed Your Majesty of them a long time ago.”

  “Nonsense! I never heard him talk about them. And even if he had, you should have told me before you signed.”

  “I did this on Itagaki’s instructions. He was afraid that since your other advisers did not really understand the true situation, it would only add to your troubles if they found out.”

  “Just who is in charge here—you or me?”

  “Your obedient servant would not dare to presume prerogatives. This agreement is actually just a temporary convenience. We can still negotiate other treaties stipulating a time limit, after which we may resume all privileges and powers.”

  What Cheng said was in fact true. All the privileges demanded by Japan in the agreement were already in their hands. The major items of the agreement stipulated that Manchukuo’s national defense and security would be entrusted entirely to Japan, that Japan controlled Manchukuo’s railroads, harbors, water routes, air routes, and could carry out future constructions and additions; that supplies needed by the Japanese Army would be supplied by Manchukuo, that Japan had the authority to develop Manchukuo’s mines and natural resources and that Japanese nationals could be employed as Manchukuo government officials. Also Japanese had the right to immigrate to Manchukuo. Finally it was stipulated that the agreement would become a basis for a formal treaty between the two countries.

  Since all the provisions were an accomplished fact, I signed the agreement and Cheng Hsiao-hsu took it away with him. A short time later Hu Sze-yuan entered. I told him about the agreement and Hu was furious. “Cheng Hsiao-hsu is really a disgrace,” he said. “Chen Pao-shen always claimed that Cheng is accustomed to be generous with others’ belongings and now he has dared to take it on himself to do this.”

  “Well, now the wood had already been made into a boat,” I said despondently, “there is nothing we can do. At any event, let’s wait for the latest news from Tokyo and see. After all, there is really nothing else I can do.”

  Several days previously we had learned that Honjo, as Commander in Chief of the Kwantung Army, was going to be replaced and that Japan was going to recognize Manchukuo officially. Hu Sze-yuan attached special importance to this development and felt that when Japan changed the commander of the Kwantung Army there might be a change in attitude and that we should take this opportunity to send people to Japan to support our point of view. He argued that we would have to give Japan some advantages such as mines, railroads, natural resources and even national defense, but the power of appointment and dismissal should be retained by me.

  I adopted his proposal and sent the lawyer who had handled my divorce case and a Taiwanese recommended by Hu Sze-yuan to lobby for us in Tokyo. After a couple of days Hu reported good news from Tokyo. According to our negotiators, the elder statesmen and some people in the Army Ministry were quite sympathetic toward me and were not satisfied with the attitude taken by Honjo. I therefore decided that as soon as a new commander of the Kwantung Army arrived in Manchukuo I would personally take up my demands. Hu Sze-yuan urged me to insist on the removal of Cheng Hsiao-hsu as Prime Minister because of his disgraceful generosity to the Japanese.

  Nobuyoshi Muto, the new commander of the Kwantung Army, arrived in Changchun in September and on the 15th he and Cheng Hsiao-hsu signed the Japan-Manchukuo Protocol, the official public treaty derived from the secret agreement.

  After we had drunk champagne following the ceremony, I was impatient to have a personal discussion with Muto. I was confident about the outcome because I had the secret reports from my emissaries in Japan which indicated that Muto was sympathetic to my problems and was willing to consider restoring my imperial title. Muto had come to Manchukuo with an illustrious army carrer behind him. During World War I he had led the Japanese forces that had occupied Siberia. He was a full general with three concurrent official positions—Commander of the Kwantung Army, Chief Executive of the Kwantung Bureau, and Ambassador to Manchukuo. Soon after his arrival, he was promoted to the rank of Marshal. He was in fact the true emperor of Manchukuo. The Japanese press referred to him as the “guardian deity of Manchuria,” and in my eyes this whitehaired old man of sixty-five seemed to have the powers of a god. When he bowed to me for the first time, with the greatest politeness, I immediately had the feeling that I was especially favored by the heavens. After I finished my talk, he replied very politely: “Regarding Your Excellency’s opinions, I will refer them to Japan for a thorough analysis.” When he left he took with him a memorandum drawn up by Hu Sze-yuan.

  But I never received any word about the analysis. According to the routine that was established, I had three meetings each month with the Commander of the Kwantung Army, and after ten days, at the second meeting, I asked him about the result of his studies.

  “Studies,” he replied. “Studies . . . studies . . . research . . . research?”

  Each time he met me he was always very polite, bowed deeply, smiled and addressed me as “Your Excellency.” But he never mentioned the memorandum. If I touched on the subject he would shift the conversation to something else. After two or three of these incidents, I no longer had the courage to ask him about my demands. Whenever I met him, up to the time of his death in July, 1933, I could only discuss Buddhism, Confucianism and “friendly relationships,” never anything substantive.

  22

  Emperor for the Third Time
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br />   IN MAY, 1932, THE COMMISSION OF ENQUIRY OF THE League of Nations arrived in the Northeast. Cheng Hsiao-hsu and his son had placed high hopes in this Commission. When it published its report in October of that year they were sure that their dream of international control of Manchukuo (as distinguished from Japanese control) would materialize in a short time with the result that I would then be able to play off one power against the other to my own advantage, instead of remaining at the mercy of the Japanese. Later, when the Chengs were discarded by the Japanese, it was said that their enthusiasm for international control of Manchukuo was the cause of their dismissal.

  On May 3 I met with the Commission of Enquiry for about a quarter of an hour in Changchun. They asked me only two questions: how did I come to the Northeast and how had Manchukuo been established?

  Before I replied to their questions, a thought flashed through my mind. I remembered how in the past my tutor Johnston had told me that the gates of London would always be open to me, and I wondered, in view of the trickery of Doihara and the threats of Itagaki, whether I dared beg Lord Lytton (the head of the Commission) to rescue me and take me with him to London. Would he agree or not? But as soon as this idea swept into my mind, I recalled that, seated next to me, were the Chief of Staff of the Kwantung Army and Itagaki. I looked at Itagaki’s bluish white face and felt compelled to repeat exactly what he had “reminded” me to tell the Commission: “The masses of the people of Manchuria begged me to come. My stay here is absolutely voluntary and free. . . .”

  The members of the Commission all smiled and nodded at my reply. They did not ask for more. Later, we had our pictures taken, drank champagne and toasted one another’s health. After their departure a smile floated across the blue-white face of Itagaki and he praised me: “Your Excellency, the Chief Executive’s manner was really excellent. How strong and clear your voice sounded!”

  Later, Cheng Hsiao-hsu came in shaking his bald head. “All those Westerners,” he explained, “met with your slave. We talked only about equal opportunity for all in Manchukuo and the interest of the great powers in the ‘open door’ policy. It was just as I had expected.”

  After the departure of the Commission, the Chengs predicted that the League of Nations might adopt a resolution proposing international control of Manchuria. When the Commission’s report was announced it gave the Chengs even greater confidence, for it stated that China should accept international control of Manchukuo. It described Japan’s wish for “stable government” as not “unreasonable” and added that “it is only in an atmosphere of external confidence and internal peace . . . that the capital which is necessary for the rapid economic development of Manchuria will be forthcoming.” It looked as though the Chengs had been right in expecting that the Commission would advocate international management with international guarantees for all the foreign powers.

  In the first few days after seeing the Commission’s report, Cheng Hsiao-hsu told me with great glee that things were “very hopeful” and that several Chinese scholars had also expressed a favorable view of the report. But the Chengs became dispirited when they learned the Japanese reaction. Although the Commission had repeatedly stressed that it respected Japan’s “rights and interests in the Northeast” and even described the seizure of Mukden on the night of September 18 as an act of self-defense by Japan, a Japanese Foreign Ministry spokesman indicated Japan was not in the least interested in a plan for international control and administration. It soon became clear that the League of Nations would do nothing to enforce its recommendations on Japan.

  It therefore became more important than ever that I not offend the Japanese if I wished to ascend the throne again. Now I must rely on the Japanese, or else . . . !

  At one of the routine meetings a few days before my first anniversary as Chief Executive, General Muto unexpectedly raised the question of the restoration of my imperial title. He explained that Japan was analyzing the problem of the Manchukuo state system, and as soon as the time was opportune, it would be resolved.

  Soon afterward, on March 27, 1933, Japan, in order to exercise more freedom of action, withdrew from the League of Nations. Meanwhile Japanese armies conducted an encircling movement against Peking and Tientsin, and the Nanking Government, busily engaged in a civil war against the Communists, signed the Tangku Agreement with Japan by which the area south of the Great Wall and east of Hopei Province was designated as a demilitarized zone from which all Chinese troops were withdrawn. This agreement enabled the Japanese to extend their influence and control over North China itself.

  Cheng Hsiao-hsu explained that the Japanese military occupation of North China, and even South China, was only a matter of time, and it was therefore more urgent than ever that the form of the Manchukuo state system be settled. He said that the final decision on this issue would not be decided by the Kwantung Army in Changchun, but in Tokyo itself. Since he repeated the claim that many of the elder Japanese statesmen had already advocated my assumption of the throne, I felt that I should send a new emissary to Tokyo to learn what was going on there.

  The man I chose for this job was a Japanese police officer named Tetsusaburo Kudo who had accompanied me from Tientsin to the Northeast. He had always been an active supporter of mine and when I was in Port Arthur he had not behaved like the other Japanese and had even indicated his dissatisfaction with the Kwantung Army. Once when I had noticed that the color of the tea in my cup seemed odd and was afraid that someone might be trying to poison me, I asked for it to be analyzed. Before the tea could be removed, Kudo drank it down. He was the only Japanese who addressed me as Your Imperial Majesty and his loyalty was no less than the most devoted Ch’ing official. I had therefore bestowed on him the Chinese name of Chung (“Loyal”) and treated him as a member of my family.

  When he returned from his short mission to Japan he told me that he had met with the Minister of the Army as well as Black Dragon Society leaders and had learned that all the military authorities were in favor of the imperial system. I now believed that my restoration was soon to come.

  In October, 1933, three months after Muto’s death, Kudo’s report was verified. The new commander of the Kwantung Army, Hishikari, informed me that the Japanese government was now prepared to recognize me as the “Emperor of the Manchukuo Imperial State.”

  As soon as I received this news I was so happy that all the flowers in my heart burst into full blossom. My first thought was that I must have a set of imperial dragon robes to wear.

  These robes were brought to Manchuria from Peking where they had been in the keeping of one of the High Consorts, but the Kwantung Army informed me that since Japan was recognizing me as “Emperor of Manchukuo” and not as the Great Ch’ing Emperor, I could not wear the dragon robes of the Ch’ing Dynasty at my coronation. I was told to wear the dress uniform of a Grand Marshal of the Land, Sea and Air Forces of Manchukuo.

  “How can this be?” I asked Cheng Hsiao-hsu. “I am the descendant of the ruling Aisin-Gioro clan. How can I ignore my ancestral regulations? All the Manchu nobility from Peking will come to see me crowned. What will I look like if I wear a Western-style uniform when I ascend the throne?”

  “What Your Majesty says is true,” Cheng Hsiao-hsu said as he nodded his head and looked at the dragon robes laid out on a table. “Your Majesty is quite right, but what will the Kwantung Army say?”

  “Go and negotiate for me.”

  After Cheng Hsiao-hsu had gone, I gazed in admiration at the dragon robes that had been preserved for me for twenty-two years by the High Consort Jung Hui. My heart was filled with emotion. These robes had once been worn by the Emperor Kuang Hsu. They were a real Emperor’s dragon robes, the ones I had been dreaming of for twenty-two years. I would wear them to reascend my throne and this would mark the restoration of the Ch’ing Dynasty. . . .

  When Cheng Hsiao-hsu returned, he reported that the Kwantung Army insisted that I wear the marshal’s uniform for the enthronement ceremony. “Did you negotiate for me?
” I asked.

  “How would your servant and slave official dare not to?” he answered. “But this decision has been personally delivered to me by Itagaki.”

  “But it cannot be,” I said as I jumped up. “Before I ascend the throne I must perform the ceremony of praying to heaven. Do you mean to say that they want me to kowtow to heaven in a marshal’s uniform?”

  “Your servant and slave official will talk to Itagaki again.”

  This time the Kwantung Army agreed to let me wear my dragon robes when I paid tribute to heaven. On the early morning of March 1, 1934, at the Apricot Flower Village in the suburbs of Changchun, on an earthern “Altar of Heaven” that had been piled up for the occasion, I wore the dragon robes and performed the ancient ritual of announcing my ascension to heaven. Later, on my return to the city, I changed into a marshal’s uniform and went through the actual ceremony of my ascension to the throne.

  The ceremony was held in the Mansion of Diligence for the People. The floor of its principal drawing room was covered with a crimson carpet and the northern wall was hung with silk draperies in front of which was placed a specially made high-backed chair on which was carved the “imperial emblem” of orchids. I stood in front of it, flanked by high officials of the Household Department, my Chief Military Aide, Japanese attachés to the Household and other palace officials. The civil and military officials headed by Premier Cheng Hsiao-hsu stood before me and bowed low three times. I replied with a half bow. Then Hishikari, the new commander of the Kwantung Army and, concurrently, the Japanese Ambassador, presented his credentials and felicitations. After the ceremony, the princes and nobles of the Aisin-Gioro clan who had come from Peking in almost full strength, as well as some former members of the old Household Department of the Forbidden City, performed the traditional Ch’ing ceremony of kneeling three times and kowtowing nine times before me as I sat on the throne.