The Last Empress (29 page)

Tutor Weng begged for a private audience, and I refused. Li Lien-ying told me that the old man was on his knees outside my gate all day. I let the tutor know that I had to respect the Emperor's decision—"I am not in a position to help"—and that I would invite him for dinner after he calmed down. I would tell him that it was time to leave his student alone. I would quote his own famous line: "Tea, opera and poetry should not be missed—longevity depends on one's mental cultivation."

I sat down to review the transcript of Guang-hsu's conversation with Kang Yu-wei. In my opinion, Kang's perspective was not much different from Li Hung-chang's. I didn't want to conclude that it was the young Emperor's willing ear that made Kang Yu-wei seem larger than life, but the transcript failed to show otherwise:

K
ANG
Y
U-WEI:
China is like a ruined palace, with every door broken and every window gone. It's useless to repair the doorsills and window trim and patch the walls. The palace has been hit by hurricanes, and more are coming. The only way to save the structure is to tear it down completely and build a new one.

G
UANG-HSU:
It's all controlled by the conservatives.

K
ANG
Y
U-WEI:
But Your Majesty is committed to reform.

G
UANG-HSU:
Yes, yes I am!

K
ANG
Y
U-WEI:
The buffoons at court are too incompetent to carry out Your Majesty's plans—assuming they agree to follow you.

G
UANG-HSU:
You make perfect sense!

K
ANG
Y
U-WEI:
The throne should learn from the Western establishment. The first thing to do is create a system of law.

This went on for page after page. I wondered what made my son think of Kang Yu-wei as an original mind. Prince Kung had long preached the idea of civil law. Li Hung-chang had introduced a system of laws not only in the northern states, where he had been viceroy, but also in the south. These laws met with great resistance, but their implementation had been going forward. The treaties we had signed with the Western powers were based on the understanding of such laws.

When Li Hung-chang traveled to the Western countries, his purpose was to "check out the real tigers"—get firsthand information on how their governments worked. So it seemed to me that what Kang Yu-wei preached to the Emperor was already being accomplished by Li. Another example was education reform. Li Hung-chang supported the funding of Western-style colleges. With Robert Hart's help, we hired foreign missionary scholars to head our schools in the capital. At Li's suggestion, I encouraged the Manchus to send their sons and daughters to study abroad. Li believed that it would make his work easier if our own elite understood what he was trying to achieve. For me, if Manchus were to maintain their position as rulers, wider knowledge and perspective were as important as power itself.

Li Hung-chang made sense when he said, "China's hope will arrive when her citizens feel proud to have their children take up such professions as engineering. We need railroads, mines and factories." China had been transforming itself, but slowly and painstakingly. Young people were enthusiastic about seeing the world, even if they could not yet afford to go abroad. Before Li was shot in Japan, the royal families had made arrangements for their sons to go and live abroad. Afterward, some families changed their minds, fearing for their children's safety. Li himself continued to travel overseas, in part to show that such fears were unfounded, but no one followed his lead.

Kang Yu-wei emphasized the importance of establishing schools in the countryside. But for years the government had been offering tax credits to provincial governors and earmarking funds to help set up schools. Our efforts had to contend with superstitious peasants who protested when rundown temples were converted into classrooms. One group of angry peasants set fire to school buildings and the home of the governor of Jiangsu province.

Kang Yu-wei challenged the texts traditionally used in Chinese schools. He refused to see that in the states where Li Hung-chang governed, industrial techniques were already being taught in schools. Talented Chinese writers learned to become translators and journalists.
In the newspapers Li controlled—the
Canton Daily
and the
Shanghai Daily,
among others—China's political concerns were addressed and foreign ideas introduced.

I kept reading Kang's conversation with the Emperor in the hope of finding something surprising and valuable.

Kang Yu-wei, I came to realize, was not suggesting reform but a revolution. He asked the Emperor to set up an overarching "Bureau of Institutions," which Kang would head. "It will handle reforms in all fields of China." When the Emperor hesitated, Kang tried to convince him that "determination conquers all."

Guang-hsu was uneasy and emboldened at the same time. In Kang Yu-wei my son felt an absolute force, which he had long desired for himself. A force that would stop at nothing, acknowledge no boundary. A force that could transform a weak man into a powerful one.

I began to understand why Guang-hsu thought of Kang Yu-wei as his "like-mind." I didn't know Kang personally, but I had raised Guang-hsu. I was responsible for cultivating his ambition. I was aware that my boy had been tortured by self-doubt, which had stayed with him like a lingering disease.

As a boy, Guang-hsu took up clock repair. Soon his room filled up with clocks. Gears and springs and escape wheels and pendulums were strewn all over his room, and the eunuchs complained that they couldn't clean the place. But taking clocks apart and putting them together again improved his concentration and problem-solving skills. Doing something he could succeed at reassured him. But his doubts always returned.

Kang Yu-wei's criticism of the "eight-legged essay" was fair, if unoriginal. The essay was a formal composition in eight parts, required of every student who took the civil service examination. A good score was a must for anyone who applied for a government position. The few brilliant minds who did well on the essay were fluent in the arcane works of ancient Chinese literature and usually too bookish to function in daily life. Nevertheless, their high scores would earn them governorships.

Li Hung-chang had long concluded that the shortcomings of our educational system lay behind our sense of backwardness in the world. The court had already added subjects to the Imperial examination,
such as math, science, Western medicine and world geography. The conservatives believed that to study the enemies' culture was itself an act of betrayal and an insult to our ancestors. In any case, the majority of the country supported the education reforms.

I spoke before a large audience in support of Guang-hsu's decree to abolish the eight-legged essay. "My son Tung Chih was not able to make good use of himself as Emperor," I began, "and this made me question his education. He spent fifteen years with China's top minds, but he had no idea where our enemies come from, what they are capable of or how to deal with them. The grand tutors are the chief judges of the national examination, and all they know is to recite ancient poems. It is time for them to lose their jobs."

When Guang-hsu's decree became effective, thousands of students protested. "It is not fair to test us on what we haven't been taught," their petition read.

I understood their frustration, especially that of the senior students who had invested their lives in mastering the eight-legged essay. It was harder for families whose hopes had rested on their sons' eventually passing and securing a government position.

As Guang-hsu pushed forward his reform, several senior students hanged themselves in front of the Confucius Temple, not far from the Forbidden City. The Emperor was accused of causing the despair that led to the tragedy. I comforted the families with honorific titles and taels. In the meantime, the throne continued to encourage the younger generation to embrace nontraditional subjects. What we did not expect was that when the government finally made learning possible and free to all, the schools ended up shutting down because of a lack of students.

Reformer Kang Yu-wei sent the throne sixty-three transcripts in three months. Although overwhelmed, I reviewed every one the Emperor sent on to me.

"Most of your high ministers are hidebound conservatives," one read. "If Your Majesty wishes to rely on them for reform, it will be like climbing a tree to catch fish."

Kang suggested that lower-ranking officials (like himself) be promoted to the reform bureau, bypassing the "cranky old boys."

I didn't allow the alarm in the back of my head to ring until I read the following:

KANG YU-WEI:
Speed is where Your Majesty should concentrate. It took the Western powers three hundred years to succeed with modernization, and it took Japan thirty years. China is a bigger nation and is capable of generating more manpower. I predict that in three years we shall turn ourselves into a superpower.

GUANG-HSU:
It won't be that easy, will it?

KANG YU-WEI:
With my strategies and Your Majesty's determination, of course it will be.

I thought about a remark Li Hung-chang had made about Kang Yu-wei's being a zealot and recalled a story Yung Lu had related. It concerned a brief encounter he'd had with Kang outside the audience hall, where both were waiting to be received by the throne. When Yung Lu asked Kang about his plans for dealing with the conservatives, Kang replied, "All it takes is to behead a couple of first-ranking officers"—which of course included Yung Lu himself.

Though it was easy to be skeptical of Kang, I tried to stay neutral. I reminded myself that I might be blinded by my own limitations. China had a deserved reputation for being self-righteous and inflexible—opposed to change of any kind. I knew we had to change, but was unsure of the way. I tried to hold my tongue.

The throne was caught in the middle when the court broke into two factions: the reformers versus the conservatives. Kang Yu-wei's friends claimed that they represented the Emperor and had the support of the public, while the Manchu Ironhats, led by Prince Ts'eng, his son Prince Ts'eng Junior and the Emperor's brother Prince Ch'un Junior, called their counterparts "bogus experts in reform and Western matters." The conservatives labeled Kang Yu-wei "the Wild Fox" and "the Bigmouth."

The Ironhats played right into Kang's hands. Overnight, their attacks raised the failed Cantonese scholar from relative obscurity to national renown—"the throne's leading advisor on reform."

The moderates at court were in a bind. The reforms Yung Lu and Li Hung-chang had set in motion were swept aside by Kang's more radical plans, and now they themselves were being pushed to choose sides. Making matters worse, Kang Yu-wei boasted to foreign journalists that he knew the Emperor intimately.

On September 5, 1898, Guang-hsu issued a new decree stating that
he had "ceased to be concerned with pruning branches"—Kang Yu-wei's language—and was "looking to rip out the rotten roots."

A few days later the Emperor dismissed the Imperial councilors along with the governors of Canton, Yunnan and Hupeh provinces. My palace gate was blocked because the governors and their families had come to Peking seeking my support. They begged for me to control the Emperor.

My office was filled with memorandums sent by Guang-hsu and his opponents. I concentrated on learning about my son's new friends. Touched by their patriotism, I was concerned about their political naiveté. Kang Yu-wei's radical views seemed to have changed my son's way of thinking. Guang-hsu now believed that he could achieve reform overnight if he pushed hard enough.

As the leaves took on autumn colors, it became more difficult to restrain myself—I was sorely tempted to interfere with my son.

In the midst of the turmoil, Li Hung-chang returned from a trip to Europe. He requested a private audience and I was pleased to receive him. Bringing me a German telescope and a cake from Spain, Li described his trip as an eye-opening experience. He even looked different; he'd left his beard untrimmed. Replying to his suggestion that I should travel myself, I could only lament that the court had already rejected the idea; Guang-hsu had worried that I might also be shot. The court believed that I might be taken hostage and that the price of my release would be China's sovereignty.

I assumed Li Hung-chang had let his beard grow fuller to hide the scars of his wound. I asked if his jaw still bothered him, and he assured me that it was no longer painful. I asked him to show me how to use the telescope. He pointed out the eyepiece and how to focus and told me that at night I could see distant planets and stars.

"The Emperor would love this," I marveled.

"I did try to bring one to His Majesty," Li said, "but I was denied entrance."

"Why?" I asked.

"His Majesty dismissed me on September 7." Li Hung-chang spoke matter-of-factly. "I am jobless and titleless."

"Dismissed you?" I could hardly believe what I heard.

"Yes."

"But ... my son didn't inform me."

"He will soon, I am sure."

"What ... what are you going to do?" I didn't know what else to say. I felt terrible.

"With your permission, I would like to leave Peking. I want to move to Canton."

"Is that why you came, Li Hung-chang?" I asked. "To inform me?"

"Yes, I come to bid farewell, Your Majesty. My close associate S. S. Huan is prepared to serve you in all matters. However, it would be best to keep him away from royal politics."

I asked Li Hung-chang who would replace him on the diplomatic front. Li replied, "Prince I-kuang has been the court's choice as far as I understand."

I felt desolated.

Li nodded slightly and smiled. He looked frail and resigned to his fate.

We sat staring at the exotic cake in front of us.

After watching my friend disappear down a long corridor, I sat in my room for the rest of the afternoon.

Just before dusk I heard loud noises at my front gate. Li Lien-ying entered with a message from Yung Lu, who had joined the crowd outside begging me to stop the Emperor.