Authors: Anchee Min
My health had started to decline. For months the doctors' efforts to stop my persistent diarrhea had failed. I began to lose weight. I felt dizzy constantly and developed double vision. Small movements would leave me short of breath. I had to quit my lifelong habit of walking after meals. I missed watching the sunset and strolling down the long paths of the Forbidden City. Li Lien-ying ground all my food to make it easier for my system to digest, but my body no longer cooperated. I soon became as thin as a coat hanger.
Watching my body abandoning itself was a terrifying experience. Yet there was nothing I could do. I continued to follow the doctors' advice and took the bitterest herbs, but each morning I felt worse than the day before.
My body had begun to consume itself, and I knew my time had come. Before the eyes of the court I tried to mask my condition. Makeup helped. So did cotton batting worn under my clothes. Only Li Lien-ying knew that I was a bag of bones and that my stools lacked all formation. I began coughing up blood.
I tried to prepare my son, but stopped short of revealing my true condition. "Your survival depends on your domination," I said to him.
"Mother, I feel unwell and unsure." Guang-hsu looked at me sad-eyed.
The dynasty has exhausted its essence
was the thought that came to my mind.
My astrologer suggested that I invite an opera troupe to perform happy songs. "It will help drive out the mean spirits," he said.
A letter of farewell from Robert Hart reached me. He was returning home to England for good. He would depart on November 7, 1908.
I could hardly bear the thought that I was losing another good
friend. Though I was in no condition to receive guests, I summoned him.
Dressed in his official Mandarin robe, he bowed solemnly.
"Look at us," I said. "We are both white-haired." I did not have the energy even to tell him to sit down, so I gestured toward the chair. He understood and took the seat.
"Forgive me for not being able to attend your farewell ceremony," I said. "I haven't been well, and death is waiting for me."
"Also for me." He smiled. "However, it is the good memories that count."
"I could not agree more, Sir Robert."
"I come to thank you for offering me so much over the years."
"I can only take credit for my effort to meet you this time. Once again the court was against it."
"I know how hard it is to make exceptions. Foreigners have a bad reputation in China. Deservedly so."
"You are seventy-two years old, aren't you, Sir Robert?"
"Yes, I am, Your Majesty."
"And you have been living in China for..."
"Forty-seven years."
"What can I say? You should be proud."
"I am indeed."
"I trust that you have made arrangements for someone to take over your duties."
"There is nothing to worry about, Your Majesty. The customs service is a well-oiled machine. It will run itself."
It surprised me that he never mentioned the honors he received from the Queen of England, nor did he talk about his English wife, from whom he had been separated for more than thirty-two years. He did mention his Chinese concubine of ten years and the three children they had. Her death. His regrets. He mentioned her suffering. "She was the sensible one," he said, and wished that he had done more to protect her.
I told him of my troubles with both of my sons—something I had never shared with anyone else. We sighed over the fact that loving our children was not enough to help them survive.
When I asked Sir Robert to tell me about his best time in China, he answered that it was working under Prince Kung and Li Hung-chang. "Both were courageous and brilliant men," he said, "and both were helplessly stubborn in their own unique ways."
Last we mentioned Yung Lu. From the way Sir Robert looked at me, I knew he understood everything.
"You must have heard the rumors," I said.
"How could I not? The rumors and the fabrications of the Western journalists and some of the truth."
"What did you think?"
"What did I think? I didn't know what to think, to be honest. You were quite a couple. I mean, you worked together well."
"I loved him." Shocked by my own confession, I stared at him.
He didn't seem to be surprised. "I am happy for my friend's soul, then. I had long sensed that he had feelings for you."
"We did the best we could. Which was less than what it should have been. It was very hard."
"I had great admiration for Yung Lu. Although we were friends, I didn't get to know him well until the legation mess. He saved us by firing his shells over the rooftops. Afterward, he delivered five watermelons to me. I was certain it was you who had sent him."
I smiled.
"Just out of curiosity," Robert Hart said, "how did you get the court to agree?"
"Yung Lu and I never discussed sending the watermelons."
"I see. Yung Lu was good at guessing your mind."
"He was."
"You must miss him."
"'The silkworm labors, until death its fine thread severs.'" I recited the first line of a thousand-year-old poem.
Sir Robert finished the verse: "'The candle's tears are dried when it itself consumes.'"
"You are an extraordinary foreigner, Robert Hart."
"I am disappointed that Your Majesty doesn't consider me Chinese. I consider myself one."
This gave me great pleasure.
"I do not want you to go," I said when it was time to part. "But I understand that a leaf must fall by the roots of its tree. Remember that you have a home and family here in China. I will miss you and will always be waiting for your return."
We both became tearful. He got down on his knees and placed his forehead on the ground for a long time.
I wanted to say "until next time," but it was clear that there would be no next time.
"I wish to see you off, Sir Robert, but I am too weak to get up from my chair. By the time you reach England, you might hear the news of my passing."
"Your Majesty..."
"I want you to be happy for the freedom my spirit will finally enjoy."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
My death was written all over their faces when the doctors begged for punishment for failing to cure me. I sent them home so that I could have time to make the necessary arrangements.
The depressing thing about dying is its dreariness. People around you no longer tease or joke, and they keep their voices low and walk on tiptoe. Everyone waits for the end, and yet the days stretch on.
Li Lien-ying was the only one who refused to give up. He made my healing his religion and guarded me from anything he believed would disturb me. He withheld news of Guang-hsu's condition, and I had no idea that my son's health had taken a critical turn for the worse. I planned to visit Ying-t'ai to see him as soon as I could get out of bed.
On November 14, 1908, I woke to the sound of loud crying. I thought my time must have come because my eyelids felt so heavy. The right side of my body felt hot, and the left side cold. With my blurred vision I saw a roomful of eunuchs on their knees.
"The Dragon has ascended to Heaven!" It was Li Lien-ying's voice.
"I am not dead yet," I uttered.
"It is your son, my lady. Emperor Guang-hsu has just passed away!"
I was carried to Guang-hsu's room. The sight of my son brought back the memory of the day Tung Chih died. I looked up and said, "Heaven's mercy! Guang-hsu is only thirty-eight years old."
His corpse was still warm. His face was as gray as when he was alive.
This must be how drowning felt. The water was warm. My lungs felt sealed. My spirit welcomed the eternal darkness.
"Come back, Your Majesty," Li Lien-ying wailed. "Come back, my lady!"
Then I remembered my duty—the heir I hadn't named.
I willed myself to summon the Grand Council.
I don't know how long they had to wait before me. When I opened my eyes again I saw Yuan Shih-kai standing on my left and Prince Ch'un Junior on my right. The room was filled with people.
"The heir, Your Majesty?" everyone asked at the same time.
"Puyi" was all I said.
I named Prince Ch'un Junior's son, the three-year-old Puyi—Yung Lu's grandson and my grandnephew—as the new Emperor of China. The royal bloodline was becoming thin.
I could not move my arms or legs, could hear only my own labored breathing. My body had been loaded with medicine. I felt no pain. My thoughts had slowed down but hadn't stopped.
My eunuchs helped me onto the throne for one last audience. Since I could no longer sit up straight, the carpenters extended the arms of my chair with long wooden sticks. Li Lien-ying rested my arms on the sticks and draped me with golden fabric.
I thought of Emperor Hsien Feng's last day when he was settled into the same pose. Making the dying look larger than life was meant to suggest power, and I had personally witnessed its effect. Still, it felt ridiculous. My husband must have felt the same absurdity. However, I understood that if I wanted my will to be executed, this was a necessity.
I was also doing this for the sake of those who had faith in me, especially the lower-ranking governors and officials who counted their calendars first "in the year of Emperor Tung Chih" and then "in the year of Emperor Guang-hsu." I owed them a final impression.
The grand secretary drew near in order to hear me.
Li Lien-ying stared at the ornaments on my hair board. Worried about their weight, he had rigged up several strings to hold everything in place. It seemed to be working, but there was still a danger that my body might collapse.
Eunuchs stood behind the throne, concealed from sight. Li Lien-ying had told them how to hold the ropes that held the Dragon Throne and myself in place.
I was amazed by my mind's clearness. But it was the delivery I needed to get through.
"It is my wish to die," I began. "I hope you will understand that no mother wants to outlive her children. I have achieved nothing in my life except to keep China in one piece. Looking back on my memories of the past fifty years, I perceive calamities from within and aggression from without that came upon us in relentless succession." With great difficulty I was able to take a breath and project my voice. "The new Emperor is a little child, just reaching the age when instruction is of the highest importance..."
I felt ashamed to continue, because I had spoken the same words when Tung Chih became Emperor, and then again with Guang-hsu. "I regret that I won't be here to guide Puyi, but this might not be his misfortune ... I hope all of you will try to do a better job than I achieved in shaping the throne's character."
Memories of Tung Chih and Guang-hsu flooded my mind. I could hear Nuharoo yelling for me to quit disciplining Tung Chih. Then came Guang-hsu's bright eyes as he spoke passionately about reform: "Ito is my friend, Mother!"
"It is my earnest prayer," I pushed myself to continue, "that Emperor Puyi diligently pursue his studies and that he may hereafter add fresh luster to the glorious achievements of his ancestors."
What I said next shocked not only the court but also the nation. I declared that empresses and concubines should be forbidden from ever holding supreme power. It was the only way to protect the young Emperor from the likes of Nuharoo, Alute and Pearl. I would not have made this decision if my niece Lan hadn't voiced her disappointment after learning that she was not going to be the acting regent for Puyi. She let me know that she was determined to seek her proper position.
My strength began to disappear. My neck was yielding to the weight of my hair board. As hard as I tried, I could no longer utter a sound.
"What do you see, my lady?" Li Lien-ying asked.
I saw the carved dragons on the ceiling. I remembered I had dreamed of these dragons before I entered the Forbidden City. Now I had seen them, all 13,844 of them.
"What is..." I remembered my astrologer's warnings about bad-luck dates on which to die.
"What is the date today?" Li Lien-ying guessed.
I meant to nod but couldn't.
"November 15, 1908, my lady. It is a good-luck day."
Strange thoughts began to surge inside my head:
I was wrong to stay. Did I know the steps? Words do not stop a flood.
"My lady?" I heard Lien-ying's voice and then, in an instant, I could not hear—
"It is the end of my world but not others', Orchid." I could see my father speaking on his deathbed.
I blinked my eyes and took a good look at Li Lien-ying. I felt sad about abandoning him.
A thick white fog enfolded me. In the middle of the fog was a soft egg yolk like a red sun. The yolk began to sway like a Chinese lantern in a gentle breeze. I heard ancient music and recognized the sound. It was from An-te-hai's white pigeons. I remembered him tying whistles and bells on the birds' legs. I saw them now. Hundreds of thousands of white pigeons flew in circles above my palace. The tune was "Wuhu, My Lovely Hometown."
Orchid—Lady Yehonala, Empress Tzu Hsi—died at the age of seventy-three.
China began to fall apart after her funeral. The country entered a dark time of warlords and lawlessness. While the Western powers carved up coastal China into colonial concessions, Japan penetrated into northern China, establishing what would be called the Kingdom of Manchuria.
In 1911, Sun Yat-sen landed in Shanghai. He succeeded in stirring up a military uprising and declared himself the first provisional president of China's new republic.
On February 12, 1912, Emperor Puyi abdicated power to Yuan Shih-kai, who declared himself president of the republic, taking over from Sun Yat-sen, and then immediately founded his own dynasty. Yuan Shih-kai soon died of a stroke, and he was ridiculed as "the eighty-three-day Emperor."
In 1919, a warlord named Chiang Kai-shek declared himself a disciple of Sun Yat-sen. After Sun's death in 1925, Chiang Kai-shek became the new president of the republic. He relied on American financial and military support and promised to build a democratic China.
In 1921, backed by Soviet Communists, Mao Tse-tung, a student rebel and guerrilla soldier from Hunan province, founded, with twelve followers, the Communist Party of China.