by Chang, Jung
However, to dethrone Guangxu was unthinkable for the Chinese – even though public opinion on the whole welcomed Cixi taking charge. The plot against her life was leaked and was doing the rounds of the teahouses, and the emperor’s involvement, blamed on Wild Fox Kang, was felt to be inexcusable. Many thought that ‘His Majesty had shown deplorable judgment, and that the Empress Dowager was justified in resuming control’. But still, they wanted him to remain the emperor. He was deemed a sacred personage ‘from Heaven’, who was not even to be seen by his subjects (hence the screens that shielded his processions). People preferred to talk about Wild Fox Kang ‘deceiving the emperor’ and ‘setting Their Majesties against each other’. Viceroys from the provinces, while supporting Cixi’s takeover, wanted her to work with her adopted son. Earl Li, who had privately scorned the emperor, saying that he did ‘not even look like a monarch’, and wished Cixi were in charge, was uncompromisingly opposed to his removal from the throne. When Junglu, Cixi’s closest confidant, sounded him out, the earl leapt to his feet before Junglu had finished talking and raised his voice: ‘How can you possibly entertain the idea! This is treason! It would be disastrous! Western diplomats would protest, viceroys and governors would be up in arms, and there would be civil war in the empire. It would be a total calamity!’ Junglu agreed with Earl Li. In fact he himself had privately been trying to dissuade Cixi from any attempt to dethrone her adopted son.
The legations had made it clear that their sympathy was entirely with Emperor Guangxu. Cixi knew that they regarded her adopted son as the reformer, and her as the anti-reform tyrant. In an attempt to correct this impression and to show that she was friendly towards the West, she invited the ladies of the diplomatic corps to a tea party in the Sea Palace on the occasion of her birthday in 1898. This would be the first time foreign women would enter the court. (The first Western man Cixi had met was Prince Heinrich of Germany earlier that year.)
Before they went, the foreign ladies reacted like girls playing ‘hard to get’. Robert Hart wrote: ‘first they were not ready the day H.M. wanted them to appear – then when the second appointed day came round they could not go because they could not decide on one interpreter . . . then another difficulty came up . . . so the visit is postponed sine die . . .’
The party eventually took place on 13 December, many days after her birthday. If Cixi felt put out, which she was bound to, she did not let her feelings mar the occasion. Sarah Conger, wife of the American minister, left a detailed description. At ten o’clock that morning, sedan-chairs were sent over for the ladies:
We formed quite a procession with our twelve chairs and sixty bearers . . . When we reached the first gate of the Winter Palace [Sea Palace] we had to leave our chairs, bearers, mafoos, escorts – all. Inside the gate were seven red-upholstered court chairs in a line, with six eunuch chair-bearers each, and many escorts. We were taken to another gate inside of which was standing a fine railroad coach presented to China by France. We entered this car, and eunuchs dressed in black pushed and hauled it to another stopping place, where we were received by many officials and served with tea . . . After a little rest and tea-sipping, we were escorted by high officials to the throne-room. Our heavy garments were taken at the door, and we were ushered into the presence of the Emperor and Empress Dowager. We stood according to rank (longest time in Peking) and bowed. Our first interpreter presented each lady to Prince Ch’ing [Ching] and he in turn presented us to Their Majesties. Then Lady MacDonald read a short address in English on behalf of the ladies. The Empress Dowager responded through Prince Ch’ing. Another low bow on our part, then each lady was escorted to the throne where she bowed and courtesied [sic] to the Emperor, who extended his hand to each.
To Lady MacDonald, it was ‘a pleasant surprise to us all to find [Guangxu] taking part in the Audience . . . A sad-eyed delicate-looking youth showing but little character in his face, he hardly raised his eyes during our reception.’ After greeting the emperor, Mrs Conger went on: ‘We then stepped before Her Majesty and bowed with a low courtesy [sic]. She offered both her hands and we stepped forward to her. With a few words of greeting, Her Majesty clasped our hands in hers, and placed on the finger of each lady a heavy, chased gold ring, set with a large pearl.’
The gift of rings, and the manner in which they were given, was common among women. This was an attempt by the empress dowager to claim sisterhood with the Western wives. Then the ladies were treated to a feast, hosted by Princess Ching and other princesses, wearing ‘most exquisite embroideries, rich satins and silks, with pearl decorations’, their fingernails ‘protected by jewelled gold finger shields’. After the feast and tea, they were conducted back to Cixi. Sarah Conger recorded the scene:
To our surprise, there on a yellow throne-chair, sat Her Majesty, the Empress Dowager, and we gathered about her as before. She was bright and happy and her face glowed with goodwill. There was no trace of cruelty to be seen. In simple expressions she welcomed us, and her actions were full of freedom and warmth. Her Majesty arose and wished us well. She extended both hands toward each lady, then, touching herself, said with much enthusiastic earnestness, ‘One family; all one family.’
Next came a Peking Opera performance, after which Cixi bade them goodbye with a theatrical gesture: ‘she was seated in her throne-chair and was very cordial. When tea was passed to us she stepped forward and tipped each cup of tea to her own lips and took a sip, then lifted the cup, on the other side, to our lips and said again, “One family, all one family.” She then presented more beautiful gifts; alike to each lady.’ Mrs Conger, who looks severe in the photographs, gushed after meeting Cixi:
After this wonderful dream-day, so very, very unreal to us all, we reached home, intoxicated with novelty and beauty . . . Only think! China, after centuries and centuries of locked doors, has now set them ajar! No foreign lady ever saw the Rulers of China before, and no Chinese ruler ever before saw a foreign lady. We returned to the British Legation and in happy mood grouped ourselves for a picture that would fix in thought a most unusual day – a day, in fact, of historic import. December 13, 1898, is a great day for China and for the world.
Lady MacDonald took with her as translator Henry Cockburn, Chinese Secretary at the British Legation, ‘a gentleman of over twenty years’ experience of China . . . and is possessed of great ability and sound judgment’. She wrote, ‘Previous to our visit, his opinion of the Dowager-Empress was what I may call the generally accepted one . . . On his return he reported that all his previously conceived notions had been upset by what he had seen and heard, and he summed up her character in four words, ‘amiability verging on weakness!’ Sir Claude reported to London: ‘the Empress Dowager made a most favourable impression by her courtesy and affability. Those who went to the palace under the idea that they would meet a cold and haughty person of strong imperious manners, were agreeably surprised to find Her Majesty a kind and courteous hostess, who displayed both the tact and softness of a womanly disposition.’ Others in the legations shared these views.
Cixi’s image had improved. But the legation men only thought better of her because they had discovered that she had an unexpected ‘womanly disposition’. It was far from the case that they would now favour her over Emperor Guangxu as the ruler of China. Over the following year she was weighed down by the strain of being a permanent prison warden. And the pressure became intolerable when she fearfully contemplated the potential consequence of the monarch persistently failing to pray at the Temple of Heaven. She leapt at a suggestion that an heir-apparent be adopted. The heir-apparent could fulfil the emperor’s duties, and could, in due course, replace the emperor, who would then retire. The adoption had sufficient justification: Emperor Guangxu was in his late twenties and still had no children. It could be argued that he needed to adopt a son to continue the dynastic line. So the prisoner wrote in his own hand in crimson ink a humble edict announcing that his illness was preventing him from having a natural heir, and so, at his repeated ent
reaty, the empress dowager had kindly consented to designate an heir-apparent, for the sake of the dynasty.
The heir-apparent was a fourteen-year-old boy called Pujun. His father, Prince Duan, was the son of a half-brother of Emperor Xianfeng, Cixi’s late husband, which provided the legitimacy.
This arrangement immediately set off speculation that Emperor Guangxu was unlikely to remain on the throne for much longer. Those who were dead-set against Cixi insisted that she would now murder him. ‘The foreign ministers began again to look grave. They spoke openly of their fear that Kuang Hsu [Guangxu]’s days were numbered,’ one eye-witness recorded. When Cixi announced the designation of the heir-apparent on 24 January 1900, the foreign legations pressed for an audience with Emperor Guangxu – unmistakably signalling their support for the imprisoned emperor and their snub for the heir-apparent. They were told that the emperor was in poor health and could not see them. When the diplomatic ladies asked for a repetition of that happy party a year earlier, they were turned down: the empress dowager was ‘too busy with affairs of state’.
* * *
fn1 Emperor Guangxu did not have a taste for luxury. Katharine Carl observed that ‘His Majesty was not much of an epicure. He ate fast, and apparently did not care what it was. When he finished, he would stand up near Her Majesty, or walk around the Throne-room until she had finished.’
22 To War against the World Powers – with the Boxers (1899–1900)
THAT THE FOREIGN legations took the side of her adopted son embittered the empress dowager. But she was more enraged by how the powers treated her empire after she sought their friendship at the reception for the diplomatic ladies. Soon after she reached out and proclaimed ‘One family; all one family’, she was dealt a nasty blow. At the beginning of 1899, Italy demanded the cession of a naval station on Sanmen Bay, a deep inlet on the east coast of Zhejiang province. This was not so much for some strategic reason as for Italy’s desire to own a slice of China as a status symbol, to keep pace with other European powers.fn1 As this acquisition presented no threat to the powers, Britain gave Italy its consent, as did most of the others. Italian warships then staged a demonstration off the coast near Beijing. It and other powers expected China to fall to its knees at this threat of war, as had hitherto been the case. Robert Hart, on China’s side, was pessimistic: ‘The Italian Ultimatum is in: China to say “yes” in four days or take the consequences! The situation is again critical . . . I fear we must go on from bad to worse. We have no spare money – we have no navy – we have no proper military organization . . . Other powers will follow suit and the débacle [sic] can’t be far off. It is not China that is falling to pieces: it is the powers that are pulling her to pieces!’ Hart lamented, as he had done during the war with Japan, ‘there is no strong man . . .’
But this time there was a different boss. Westerners saw that, to Italy’s ‘great surprise, as well as that of everyone else, China returned a stubborn refusal’. The Chinese Foreign Office sent back letters from the minister of the Italian Legation, De Martino, unopened. It explained to Sir Claude MacDonald that it, ‘being unable to accede to this request, and considering that to argue the point with the Italian minister would mean a great expenditure of pen and ink, returned to Signore De Martino his despatches’. Cixi gave orders to prepare for war. ‘There was a bustle of activity throughout the empire,’ noted foreign observers.
In the middle of the crisis, Italy changed the minister at its legation. When the new minister, Giuseppe Salvago Raggi, arrived, he presented his credentials to Emperor Guangxu. Deviating from the protocol by which the head of the Foreign Office received the credentials on his behalf, Emperor Guangxu ‘stuck out his hand to take the letter’, noted Salvago Raggi, whereupon ‘Prince Ching froze’. The Italians interpreted the emperor’s hand as a very significant sign – that China was going out of its way to be nice to them, and that their gunboats had worked. They were deeply disappointed when Chinese officials arrived the following day to explain that what the emperor had done was only an anomaly, and that nothing should be read into it. On 20 and 21 November 1899, Cixi issued two decrees, in which she expressed her outrage and her resolve:
Now the situation is perilous, and the powers are glaring at us like tigers eyeing their prey, all trying to barge into our country. Considering the financial and military situation in China today, we will of course try to avoid a war . . . But if our powerful enemies try to force us to yield to demands to which we cannot possibly consent, then we have no alternative but to rely upon the justice of our cause and to unite and fight . . . If we are forced into a war, once the war is declared, all provincial chiefs must act together to fight those hateful enemies . . . No one is allowed to speak the word, he [appeasement], and no one must even think about it. China is a large country with rich resources and hundreds of millions of people. If the nation can be united in its devotion to the Emperor and Country, what powerful enemy is there to fear?
Italy, which in fact had no stomach for war, lowered its demands and eventually asked only for a concession in a Treaty Port. Cixi reportedly told the Italians: ‘Not a speck of Chinese mud.’ Italy climbed down and, by the end of the year, abandoned all its claims. A ‘feeling of elation filled the hearts of patriotic Chinese’, Westerners noticed. But the victory did not lessen Cixi’s anxiety. She knew she was lucky, for Italy was ‘a small and poor country’ and did not really want a war. It was only bluffing, and she called its bluff. But the support given to Italy by major European powers destroyed her ‘one family’ illusion and deepened her bitterness. ‘Foreign powers bully us too much, too much,’ she kept saying. ‘Foreign powers are ganging up on us’ and ‘I feel eaten up inside.’
Even the most open-minded and pro-Western members of the elite were enraged by the European powers’ scramble for China. They were appalled that America, the only major power that did not take their territory, had introduced the Chinese Exclusion Act, discriminating against Chinese immigration.fn2 Almost everyone had endured injury to their personal pride. One, Wu Tingfang, who had studied law in London, and headed China’s mission to the United States, was much hurt by one incident: ‘Western people are fond of horse-racing. In Shanghai they have secured from the Chinese a large piece of ground where they hold race meetings twice a year, but no Chinese are allowed on the grand-stand during the race days. They are provided with a separate entrance, and a separate enclosure, as though they were the victims of some infectious disease.’
Yung Wing, the first Chinese to graduate from Yale University, described an experience in a Shanghai auction room which marked him deeply: ‘I happened to be standing in a mixed crowd of Chinese and foreigners. A stalwart six-footer of a Scotsman happened to be standing behind me . . . He began to tie a bunch of cotton balls to my queue, simply for a lark. But I caught him at it and in a pleasant way held it up and asked him to untie it. He folded up his arms and drew himself straight up with a look of the utmost disdain and scorn.’ The matter ended in a fight when Yung Wing’s blows ‘drew blood in great profusion from [the Scot’s] lip and nose’. ‘The Scotsman, after the incident, did not appear in public for a whole week . . . but the reason . . . was more on account of being whipped by a little Chinaman in a public manner . . .’ Yung Wing reflected:
since the foreign settlement on the extra-territorial basis was established close to the city of Shanghai, no Chinese within its jurisdiction had ever been known to have the courage and pluck to defend his rights . . . when they had been violated or trampled upon by a foreigner. Their meek and mild disposition had allowed personal insults and affronts to pass unresented and unchallenged . . . The time would soon come, however, when the people of China will be so educated and enlightened as to know what their rights are, public and private, and to have the moral courage to assert and defend them.
It was Yung Wing who initiated the scheme to send Chinese teenagers to America to be educated, while Wu Tingfang would in time become one of the drafters of a Western-style legal code
. Both turned their hurt into an impetus to reform China on the model of the West, for which they retained a lifelong affection and admiration. Wu wrote about going to America:
When an Oriental, who, throughout his life, has lived in his own country where the will of his Sovereign is supreme, and the personal liberty of the subject unknown, first sets foot on the soil of the United States, he breathes an atmosphere unlike anything he has ever known, and experiences curious sensations which are absolutely new. For the first time in his life he feels he can do whatever he pleases without restraint . . . he is lost in wonderment.
For the average villagers and small-town people, anti-Western feeling was mainly directed at the Christian missions established among them. By now there were more than 2,000 missionaries living and working in China. Being foreign, they easily became targets of hate when times were bad. The inflexibility of some priests did not help. Animosity arose particularly when there was a drought, which inflicted protracted agony on the peasants. At such times, villagers often staged elaborate ceremonies and prayed to the God of Rain, in the desperate hope that they might survive the coming year. This was a matter of life and death, and all villagers were required to participate in order to demonstrate their collective sincerity. Many Christian missions held that they were praying to the wrong God and condemned the ceremonies as ‘idolatrous’ theatre. E. H. Edwards, for twenty years a medical missionary in China, wrote, ‘It can scarcely be conceived by foreigners (to whom these theatrical displays are senseless and absurd) what a hold they have upon the people, and what immense sums are spent upon them every year.’ Thus missionaries would forbid their converts to pay their dues or to take part. As a result, when the drought was prolonged, villagers blamed the foreigners and converts for offending the God of Rain – and causing them starvation. When mandarins explained this to the priests, the answer was unyielding, as Edwards observed: ‘The officials further asked the missionaries to urge the Christians to pay such dues in order to prevent future troubles. To this request there was, of course, but one answer; and it was further explained to the officials that attendance at theatres was not only discountenanced by the Protestant Church in China, but that if any member was found to frequent them habitually he was disciplined.’