The Last Empress: The She-Dragon of China (21 page)

Just to emphasise the point, a second decree (again in the name of the two Empresses) gave an account of the Prince’s first Imperial audience following his reinstatement, which is probably mostly fiction and stands as a fine example of hypocritical self-aggrandisement, a pattern which was to be repeated throughout Yehonala’s long reign:

He prostrated himself humbly and wept bitterly, in token of his boundless self-abasement...and the Prince seemed full of remorse for misconduct which he freely acknowledged. Sincere feelings of this kind could not fail to elicit our compassion...For our part we had no prejudice in this matter and were animated only by strict impartiality; it was inconceivable that we should desire to treat harshly a Councillor of such tried ability or to deprive ourselves of the valuable assistance of the Prince. We now therefore restore him to the Grand Council, but in order that his authority may be reduced, we do not propose to reinstate him in his position as ‘Adviser to the Government’.

Prince Kung, see to it now that you forget not the shame and remorse that have overtaken you! Strive to requite our kindness and display greater self-control in the performance of your duties!
¹⁷

There could be no mistake. In the race for absolute power, it was Yehonala first and the rest of the field nowhere. The Empress of the Western Palace was now firmly in control of the Celestial Empire.

Despite his claimed bitter remorse, there is no doubt that Prince Kung harboured great resentment for the humiliation he had suffered. By this time, Yehonala was beyond his vengeance, untouchable, and in his anger the Prince redirected his aggression at softer targets–the palace eunuchs. He especially directed his spleen upon Yehonala’s favourite eunuch, An Te-hai. If indeed he was a eunuch. The gossipmongers of Beijing had it that An Te-hai was
Homo intactus
, one of a small number of men throughout history who (or so it was claimed) had lived a double life within the Forbidden City, with all the dangers and advantages that accrued from such an ambiguous position. There were more than three thousand wives, concubines and maidservants of the Emperor, the majority neglected and frustrated and no doubt grateful for any male companionship. The same was true of the ladies of a deceased Emperor Yehonala included, whom custom required to spend the rest of their lives in chaste widowhood. A mock eunuch might live in close proximity to such a lady without exciting comment. And the rumours implicated An Te-hai as a lover of the Western Empress.

It seems Prince Kung believed that An Te-hai had been the eunuch responsible for informing Yehonala that the Prince had risen from his knees before the due time at the fateful audience that had stripped the Manchu noble of most of his power and titles. Seated behind a yellow silk screen the Western Empress would not have known of the Prince’s breach of etiquette. Prince Kung may have had other reasons for singling out this particular individual. It was standard Chinese politics to hurt a more powerful opponent by striking at his friends and those he held dear, and Yehonala’s attachment to An Te-hai was common knowledge. Besides, the eunuch had arrogated to himself honours and titles far beyond those allowed by the Manchu house-laws: he had a huge personal retinue, dressed in the most sumptuous silks, and was known as Lord of Nine Thousand Years, regarded by many as a calculated insult towards the person of the Emperor, the Lord of Ten Thousand Years. Such arrogance can only have rankled with the newly demoted, but equally imperious, nobleman. And so, just as Yehonala had bided her time, waiting to strike at Prince Kung, he stoically held his peace, patiently seeking an opportunity to wound her through her favourite.

It was almost four years before the chance came. In 1869, increasingly confident in her hold over the Empire (although she still issued all decrees jointly with her co-Regent, the Empress Sakota) Yehonala became careless. She found herself short of funds, and ordered her favourite on an unofficial mission south to Shandong Province to collect tribute. In doing so she broke one of the cardinal rules of Manchu house-law, that no eunuch might leave the capital, under pain of death. True to his flamboyant character, and confident of his mistress’s protection, An Te-hai made the journey in ostentatious style, sailing down the Grand Canal

...in two dragon barges, with much display of pomp and pageantry...His barges flew a black banner, bearing in its centre the triple Imperial emblems of the sun, and there were also Dragon, and Phoenix flags [signifying the Empress] flying on both sides of his vessel. A goodly company of both sexes were in attendance; there were female musicians, skilled in the use of string and wind instruments. The banks of the Canal were lined with crowds of spectators, who witnessed his progress with amazement and admiration. The 21st of last month happened to be this eunuch’s birthday, so he arrayed himself in Dragon robes, and stood on the foredeck of his barge, to receive the homage of his suite.
¹

An Te-hai was obviously enjoying his excursion beyond the walls of the Great Within. But unknown to him, or to Yehonala, word of the eunuch’s extravagant progress had been sent secretly by the Governor of Shandong to Prince Kung. Here was the ideal opportunity for the Prince to revenge himself upon the Western Empress, and he seized it with both hands. Shrewd statesman that he was, the Prince also saw an opportunity to drive a wedge between the two Empresses Dowager. He sought out Sakota, and persuaded the slow, malleable Empress to sign a decree condemning the eunuch to death, without the customary trial in Beijing. Biddable as she undoubtedly was, she clearly understood the storm that would break about her head when Yehonala discovered, too late, the fate of her minion: ‘The Western Empress will assuredly kill me for this,’ she reportedly said as she handed over the decree to Prince Kung. Why Sakota agreed to this is a mystery: it may be she believed the fateful and mysterious document given her by the dying Emperor Hsien Feng in 1860 at Jehol (and whose contents she had revealed to no one) would save her from the worst of Yehonala’s wrath.

Prince Kung sped the decree to Shandong, where the Governor, Ting Pao-chen, acted immediately. The edict specifically commanded the governor that ‘no attention is to be paid to any crafty explanations which the eunuch may attempt to make’. An Te-hai was arrested near his gorgeous barge in Tai’an Prefecture, and vainly protesting his high position and his authority from the Western Empress, was summarily beheaded in front of his gaily bedecked entourage. And, as was normal in Chinese society, An’s whole family fell with him–they were arrested and sent off as slaves to the frontier guards in the north-west, China’s most dangerous border region. Not content with this, several eunuchs travelling with An Te-hai were also given their quietus at the same time by strangling. Six more managed to escape and to evade capture for a while. Five were eventually taken and executed, but the sixth eunuch successfully eluded his pursuers and made his way back to the capital. Here, in great secrecy, he recounted the tale of An Te-hai’s fall to An’s deputy, Li Lien-ying, the same Li who had acted as masseur to the dying Emperor in Jehol, and had stolen the Imperial Seal, by which, indirectly, Yehonala had been able to ascend to the Dragon Throne.

Li can hardly have been heartbroken by the news. His own promotion to Chief Eunuch was only possible via An Te-hai’s disgrace or death and, while he must often have longed to hear the news the surviving eunuch now brought to him, he could never have expected to achieve his ambition quite so soon. No doubt hiding his satisfaction, Li immediately informed his mistress. When she first heard of An’s execution, Yehonala refused to accept it. She had long since discounted Sakota as a force within the Forbidden City, and could not believe that the Eastern Empress would have dared so openly to flout her own authority. When she finally accepted the accuracy of the report, true to her temperament, she acted immediately.

Striding in rage to the ironically named ‘Palace of Benevolent Peace’, she confronted her cousin and demanded an explanation. Sakota tried to place all the blame on Prince Kung, but it was a hopeless defence–her own seal was on the decree ordering An Te-hai’s death. Some accounts claim that the Palace of Benevolent Peace rang to the fearsome sound of Yehonala’s full-throated anger as she openly vowed to answer An Te-hai’s ‘murder’ with the death of her cousin. This is unlikely: correct form, perfect etiquette, were de rigueur within the Forbidden City, at least between social equals. No matter how bitter the enmity, the time-honoured rules of
Li
were punctiliously observed. But while Yehonala almost certainly refrained from direct threats, both Empresses knew that the death of An Te-hai had produced a sea-change in their relationship: the close companionship of their youth, the intimate alliance forged in the furnace of palace intrigue and their fight against Su Shun, had been irrevocably severed. And Yehonala, at some time and in some way, would have her vengeance.

Prince Kung received similar treatment. The following morning she received him at audience and coldly threatened him with a second dismissal and loss of honours. But Yehonala never followed through on her threats: the howls of protest from Censors and memorialists that followed her first chastising of the Prince had convinced her that, for the present, he was far too popular to remove. Even had she wished to act, she had no reasonable motive: An Te-hai’s mission had been utterly illegal.

Yehonala had relied on her prestige and power to cow all protest, but (and it was so unlike her) she had no suitable historical precedent or pressing state emergency to excuse the eunuch’s journey outside the Forbidden City. It was specifically against the Dynasty’s house-laws, and the punishment for the miscreant was death. That she was in the wrong was more an irritation than a source of shame. She continued to nurse her grievance carefully, and for decades thereafter she wounded the Prince at every opportunity, most notably by ignoring all precedent and refusing to acknowledge his son as heir to the throne, and carefully arranging that all descendants of the Prince be excluded from the Imperial succession. All protests were ignored–this able and astute nobleman was marginalised, and the history of China changed irrevocably–because of the death of a eunuch.

As expected, Li Lien-ying was raised to the position of Chief Eunuch to replace the late An Te-hai, and he very soon enjoyed as close a relationship with the Empress of the Western Palace as his unfortunate predecessor. Yehonala’s affinity for eunuchs was obvious and well known, but Li Lien-ying, handsome and with impeccable manners, was allowed unusual liberties. Uniquely for a servant, he was allowed to initiate discussions with Yehonala on subjects of his own choosing, and to remain seated in her presence, sometimes even using the Imperial throne to relax upon while he conversed. As their friendship matured he began to use the word
tsa-men
‘we two’ when speaking of his dealings with the Western Empress, a term normally used between family members or intimate social equals. As she aged, it was Li who coined the soubriquet ‘Lao fu-yeh’ (Venerable Buddha) for Yehonala, an affectionate title she greatly enjoyed.

In stark contrast to her eunuch favourite, Yehonala appeared incapable of forming and maintaining normal family ties, especially with her son, the Tung Chih Emperor. From an early age, he preferred the company of his more easy-going and less demanding aunt Sakota, the now-hated Empress of the Eastern Palace. By 1870, at the age of fourteen, the young Emperor saw his mother less and less and, like the adolescent he was, delighted in his ability to shock. Palace gossip already implicated him in an illicit affair with a maidservant, behaviour guaranteed to add tension to an already strained relationship. This growing estrangement between mother and son was a great cause for concern–and the anguish was not purely, or even primarily, maternal. It was first and foremost a threat to Yehonala’s continued authority.

When she had first taken power, ten years before, the span of her regency must have seemed almost limitless. But the years had passed, and in two more years, Tung Chih would reach the age of maturity, and Yehonala would be expected to step down and to gradually relinquish her control of the Empire to her son. No doubt she had expected Tung Chih to remain compliant, allowing her to exert her influence from behind the scenes. But his rebellious attitude put her continued ascendancy at risk. As he matured Tung Chih could only come to rely less and less on Yehonala’s ‘advice’. With his liking for his aunt, there was even a danger that he might go over to the ‘enemy’s camp’, and to make common cause with Sakota and Prince Kung, leaving his mother isolated and vulnerable. Her lack of influence over her son and the danger this posed to her continued rule became the single most important factor in Yehonala’s policy, and led to the most terrible consequences.

There was more. In the longer term, an even greater difficulty presented itself. Once he had reached the age of maturity, the Emperor Tung Chih must marry. Apart from good stewardship of the Empire, the Celestial Prince’s prime duty was to sire a son to secure the succession. For without an undisputed heir, dissension was sure to arise, and with it the risk of civil war. A son for the Emperor was the
sine qua non
of stability. Everyone in the Middle Kingdom, from the lowliest peasant to the most exalted nobility, desired such an outcome.

Everyone except Yehonala. Until her own pregnancy, she had been merely a concubine of the second rank, a relatively minor place in the hierarchy of the Great Within. After winning the Emperor’s affection, Yehonala had achieved her pre-eminent status among the Emperor’s ladies solely by being the mother of the heir. Her authority was, and remained, entirely dependent upon her position as the mother of Tung Chih. But when, in the fullness of time, Tung Chih’s future wife in turn gave birth to a son, everything would change. The Emperor’s wife would now be entitled to the honorific ‘Empress Mother’. A single act of parturition would sweep away much of Yehonala’s status and power.