The Last Manchu Page 10
Despite this sort of thing, as well as articles in the foreignlanguage press suggesting that a reversion to monarchy was not unlikely, the fact was that it was the war lords themselves, with guns in their hands, who directly controlled the fate of the Little Court. As the North China Daily Mail pointed out, “The comings and goings to places where military officials are known to congregate are not devoid of significance.”
I remember how in the second half of 1919 the Little Court had close relations with war lords other than those of the old Peiyang clique. The first of these was High Inspecting Commissioner Chang Tso-lin, the head of the Fengtien (Mukden) clique.
The palace’s dealings with Chang Tso-lin started when my father received a large sum of money from Fengtien, in northeast China where Chang Tso-lin’s power was centered, as payment for some land that had been my property. My father wrote a letter of thanks and the Household Department dispatched a high-ranking official with some antique vases and a picture from the palace collection as a present for Chang Tso-lin. Chang sent his sworn brother Chang Ching-hui, then the second in command of the Fengtien Army and later premier of Manchukuo, to accompany our envoy back to Peking and convey his gratitude.
In 1920 the Fengtien clique aligned itself with the Chihli clique (a northeast province of China proper) to defeat the Anhwei clique (East China Province) and when the Chihli chief and Chang Tso-lin entered Peking the Little Court sent an official of the Household Department to welcome them. A rumor that Chang Tso-lin was going to come to the palace for an audience precipitated a special meeting of the senior officials of the Household Department in my father’s house to discuss what presents he should be given. But Chang Tso-lin went back to Fengtien (Mukden) without visiting the palace.
In 1923 the head of the Chihli clique, Tsao Kun, bought the votes of the members of Parliament for 5,000 dollars apiece and had himself elected President. The court had only just stopped being frightened of him when another rising Chihli commander, Wu Pei-fu, attracted attention. That same year I sent lavish presents to Wu to congratulate him on his fiftieth birthday. But, as it turned out, Wu Pei-fu’s success was short-lived since, the year after his birthday, his subordinate Feng Yu-hsiang22 changed sides in the fighting between the Chihli and Fengtien cliques. And so it went, politically.
9
My Wedding
DESPITE THE CONFUSION OUTSIDE THE FORBIDDEN CITY, and notwithstanding my restoration and second abdication, my personal life as Emperor continued as before. Thus, if I entertained any interest in the proposal that I had reached the age for my Grand Nuptials, it was because it meant that my wedding would mark my coming of age. After this, no one could control me any more as if I were a child.
It was the older ladies of the court who were most concerned about this affair. Early in the tenth year of the Republic, in 1921, when I reached fifteen years of age, the High Consorts summoned my father for a number of consultations on the matter and then called a meeting of about ten royal princes to discuss it. Two years elapsed from the time these discussions started until my wedding actually took place. There were a number of reasons for this. First of all, there was the death of the High Consort Chuang Ho, and then of my own mother. Second, my tutors advised me to delay my wedding owing to the unstable political conditions. Third, there were a number of complicated disputes over the choice of a bride so that my engagement had several ups and downs before a conclusion could be reached.
Two of the High Consorts, Than Kang and Ching Yi, each wished to choose as empress someone who would be partial to them. This was not because of love or prejudice on their part, but because of the fact that the selection might affect their future positions. Ching Yi had been an imperial consort of the Emperor Tung Chih (1856-1874) and she had never forgotten that the Empress Dowager Tzu Hsi had declared in her will that I was the heir of Tung Chih and only concurrently the heir of Kuang Hsu (1871-1908). But Yuan Shih-kai had interfered in our “internal affairs” and designated the High Consort Tuan Kang as administrator of the palace. As a result Ching Yi felt she had not received the respect due her and Tzu Hsi’s will had not been fulfilled. She was therefore a rival of Tuan Kang and had her own candidate for my hand. Neither could agree.
My two uncles were also divided in their choice. In the last resort, however, the Emperor had the final say. During the two previous reigns the maidens were all lined up in a row and the future bridegroom had personally selected one of them. He then immediately gave a token to the girl of his choice. I have heard two versions of the kind of tokens that were used. One was that the future bridegroom gave the girl of his choice a jade mushroom. The other was that he put a pouch on the buckle of the girl. But when it came to my time, and after due consideration by the royal princes and officials, it was felt that it would no longer be appropriate to line up the maidens of the noble families in a row for selection in this manner. A method of selection by photographs was devised and I was to take a pencil and make a mark on the picture of the one I liked best.
Four photos were sent to me at the Mind Nurture Palace. But the four girls looked so much alike, and their figures looked so much like paper tubes, that it was difficult for me to decide. Besides, their faces in the photos were so small that it was hard for me to see if they were beautiful or not. In fact, all I could distinguish was the designs on their Mandarin dresses. It did not occur to me that this was one of the great events of my life, and I had no real standard to guide me.
Without hesitation, I drew a circle on one of the pictures which seemed the more agreeable to me. She was of the Manchu Ordet clan and was named Wen Hsiu. She was three years younger than I and thus only twelve when I saw her picture. Since she was the favorite of the High Consort Ching Yi, Tuan Kang was utterly dissatisfied with my selection and, disregarding the opposition of Ching Yi, insisted on summoning the princes and officials to persuade me to make another selection and choose her candidate. She claimed that Wen Hsiu came from a rather humble family and was not very beautiful, whereas the one she recommended was of a rich family and much prettier. The one she had chosen was Wan Jung, and she was of my age. On the photo it said sixteen. I followed the advice of the princes and high officials and wondered why they had not explained all this to me before. But anyway, it did not disturb me too much, and I therefore drew a circle on the photo of Wan Jung.
This second selection, of course, greatly displeased Ching Yi. After a long series of arguments among the High Consorts and princes, Jung Hui, another of the consorts, finally came up with this suggestion: “Since your Majesty has already circled Wen Hsiu she can never marry one of your subjects. Therefore Your Majesty should take her as your secondary consort.” But since in my own mind I did not feel an urgent need for one wife, how could I choose two at the same time? I therefore did not wish to accept her advice. Finally, however, I gave in as a result of the pressure of the princes and officials who argued that according to ancestral custom “the Emperor must have an empress and a consort.”
I have, as a matter of fact, rather simplified the process of choosing an empress and secondary consort. Actually it took over a year before a decision could be reached. And after the decision, the civil war between the Chihli and Fengtien war lords caused my wedding to be postponed until December 1, 1922. Although by this time China had a new President and it was feared that he would be more apt to interfere with the arrangements than his predecessor, the preparations had developed to such an extent that it was too late to stop them. But as it turned out, the government of the new President supported the wedding far beyond expectations. A letter was sent by the Minister of Finance of the Republic to the Household Department, written in an apologetic tone, saying that because of financial difficulties in the past, the government had fallen behind in the payments due under the Articles of Favorable Treatment. Nevertheless, in order to help out with the cost of the Grand Nuptials, the government had set aside $100,000 from customs revenues of which $20,000 was to be regarded as a gift of the Republic. Meanw
hile the Army, National Guard and Police of the Republic presented their own plans for affording protection to the double wedding ceremony which involved the deployment of thousands of men along the processional routes in Peking and the use of several military bands. Furthermore, the Republic allowed the Empress’s Phoenix Chair23 to enter the Forbidden City through the Glorious Eastern Gate, an entry which had previously been denied the Ch’ing House.
The actual wedding ceremonies were scheduled over a period of five days. On November 29, between 9 and 11 A.M., the trousseau of the secondary consort would enter the palace. On November 30, between 11 A.M. and 1 P.M., the trousseau of the Empress would enter the palace. Between 9 and 11 A.M. on the same day the Rite of the Golden Seal and Scroll would be performed,24 and between 1 and 3 A.M. the secondary consort entered the palace. On December 1, between 3 and 5 A.M., the ceremony of welcoming the Empress would be held and this would be followed by the Grand Nuptial Ceremony to be followed on December 2 by the worship of the bridegroom’s imperial ancestors. On December 3, the Emperor would receive the greetings of the Manchu and Mongol princes, the officers of the court and household and ex-ministers of state in the Cloudless Heaven Palace.
In addition to this there were other functions including three days of opera commencing on the second day of the wedding ceremonies. Also before the actual wedding there were quite a few ceremonies which had to be performed—the granting of the right to send wedding gifts to the bride, the promotion of the four High Consorts to Grand Imperial High Consorts, and the granting of many honorific titles to the princes and high palace officials.
There was some surprise and indignation over the fact that the Manchu court, after its unsuccessful attempt at restoration in 1917, presumed to show off its pomp outside the walls of the Forbidden City under the respectful protection of such a large number of Republican soldiers and police. The ceremonial emblems of the Ch’ing House had been paraded with great majesty on the streets of Peking. On the actual day of the wedding ceremony, two princes, in court robes, with staffs of office in their hands, had ridden behind two Republican military bands and had been followed by two more bands as well as the Republican cavalry, mounted police and mounted security guard. Farther behind had come the dragon-and-phoenix flags and umbrellas, 72 pairs of imperial emblems, 4 yellow pavillions (in which were contained the golden seal and scroll and the robes of the Empress) and 30 pairs of palace lanterns. With much pomp, this procession had set out for the mansion of the Empress. In front of her house there had been a company of soldiers and police for the protection of her father and brothers. All of them had knelt to welcome the princes from the Forbidden City who had brought with them the “imperial edict.”
The rich gifts from the leading figures of the Republic also attracted considerable attention. The President sent the following: a red gift card along with four pieces of cloisonné, two kinds of silk and satin, one curtain and one pair of scrolls on which were greetings wishing me longevity, prosperity, and happiness. The ex-President sent $20,000 and many other valuable gifts including 28 pieces of porcelain and a majestic rug with a dragon-and-phoenix design. Many politicians sent important gifts as did such war lords as Chang Tso-lin and Wu Pei-fu.
The personal representative of the Republic at the ceremony was Yin Chang who was chief aide-de-camp in the Office of the President. He congratulated me formally as he would have done if I were a foreign sovereign. But when he had finished bowing to me, he suddenly declared: “A moment ago I was representing the Republic. Now your slave will greet Your Majesty.” With this he knelt on the floor and kowtowed.
At the time, many of the newspapers published stern editorials on these strange occurrences, but this did not restrain the gaiety and enthusiasm of the princes and high court officials. Many of the former Ch’ing veterans came to Peking in groups, like swarms of insects after the spring rains. With them they brought their gifts including money and antiques. But what counted most for them was not the money and presents, but the style and pomp. This was far greater than they had expected. It made them feel that something might be done for the future.
What caused the most excitement for the retired officials, their sons and daughters, and the Grand Imperial High Consorts were the guests from the Legation Quarter. This was the first time that the foreign diplomats had appeared in the Forbidden City since the Revolution of 1911. Even though they came in their personal capacities, they were still foreign officials. In order to show gratitude for their attendance, at the suggestion of my tutor Johnston, a reception was arranged especially for them in the Cloudless Heaven Palace. I read them a short message in English:
Today I come to meet many noble and respectful guests from all the countries of the world. I, the Emperor, feel honored and I thank all of you for your coming and I wish you good health and good luck.
In the midst of all the hustle and hubbub of the wedding ceremonies I kept repeating to myself this question: “Now that I have an empress and a consort and I’m married, what is the difference between now and before?” The answer that I gave myself was: “I’m of age now. If it were not for the Revolution this would be the time for me to start ruling without regents.”
I gave no thought to the relations between husband and wife, and of raising a family. And it was only when the Empress, whose face was hidden by a red scarf embroidered with dragon-and-phoenix design, came into my field of vision that I began to wonder what she really looked like.
We spent our wedding night in the Palace of Earthly Peace. The bridal chamber was about 33 feet square. There was little furniture save for the bed which occupied one quarter of the room. Everything in it was red. After we had gone through the rites of “drinking the nuptial cup” and had eaten “sons and grandsons cake,” we entered this dark red chamber together. Suddenly I felt cooped up and stifled. My bride sat on the bed with her head bowed low. I stood at her side and stared about the room while feeling engulfed by the red bed curtains, the red quilt, the red pillows, a red dress, a red flower, a red face. It was as if all had melted into a blob of red wax from a melted red candle.
I became very uneasy and did not know whether to stand or sit. I suddenly felt that I should prefer to be in the Mind Nurture Palace, and so I opened the door and went back there.
Immediately upon my return I caught sight of a long list of officials from many places in China which had been placed on the wall. The question came to my mind again: “Now I have an empress and a consort. I am married and of age. What is the main difference between now and before?”
What were the sentiments and emotions of Wan Jung who had been left alone, all by herself, in the Palace of Earthly Peace? What was the young girl, my consort Wen Hsiu, who was not yet fourteen thinking? At the time these questions never occurred to me.
What I was thinking was: If it were not for the Revolution I would have commenced to rule by myself without regents. I would recover my great ancestral heritage.
10
Family Clashes
FROM THE TIME JOHNSTON ENTERED THE PALACE, I BECAME more and more difficult for the princes and high officials to deal with. As the month of my wedding approached, my conduct must have seemed very erratic. One day, I would ask the Household Department to spend $30,000 on a diamond, and the next day I would berate it for not being able to make ends meet and accuse it of corruption and waste. In the morning I might call in the high officials to order a thorough inspection of the antiques, paintings and scrolls and ask for a written report on the same day; and yet by afternoon I would ask for motor transportation to Fragrance Hill outside Peking. I had become tired of traditional ceremonies and had reached the point where I hated to ride in the gold-canopied yellow sedan chair. Sometimes I would accuse the eunuchs of disloyalty for some minor reason and would have them sent to the Administrative Bureau for flogging. What made the princes and high officials most uncomfortable, however, was that at one moment I would plan a reorganization of the internal affairs of the palace and a thorough inve
stigation of its financial affairs and the next moment I would announce that I wanted to leave the Forbidden City to study abroad. They were in fear and trembling all day and their queues almost went white with worry.
Some of the princes and high officials had even considered my going abroad before I did and this was why Johnston had been sent for to teach me English. After my marriage, I received many memorials from retired Ch’ing officials proposing that I go abroad. Yet when I started to raise the question, almost everyone opposed it and the reason given most frequently was: “If Your Majesty, the Emperor, leaves the Forbidden City it will mean that you have abrogated the Articles of Favorable Treatment. Since the Republic has not revoked the Articles, why should you give them up?”
None of them, whether they sympathized with my wish to go abroad or whether they basically opposed it, whether they had already despaired of “restoring the ancestral heritage” or whether they still had hopes for it, wished to give up the Articles of Favorable Treatment. Even though the $4,000,000 annual subsidy provided for in the Articles had been shown to be an empty promise, the clause stipulating that the Emperor’s “title of dignity is to be retained and not abolished” still held good. For those who had not given up hope of a restoration it was very important that I stay on in the Forbidden City and keep the Little Court intact. For those who had lost all hope my continued presence meant a rice bowl and status.
But my way of thinking was different from theirs. First of all I did not believe that the Articles of Favorable Treatment would continue forever and I was more conscious than anyone else of the precariousness of my position. The new outbreak of civil war, the retreat of the war lord Chang Tso-lin to the Northeast, the fall of President Hsu Shih-chang and the assumption of the Presidency by Li Yuan-hung made me feel that the danger was imminent. A real question in my mind was whether these new political figures would kill me. I was not thinking of favorable or unfavorable treatment. Even though the status quo might be maintained, who could predict amidst the ever-changing political and military environment which war lord or politician would come out on top? Who could know what kind of military man would come to power tomorrow or what kind of politician would form a cabinet the following day? I gathered from many people, especially from Johnston, that there was not a single case in which there wasn’t some foreign power behind these changes. Instead of depending on favorable treatment from the latest Republican authorities, why didn’t I establish contact with the foreigners directly? Might it not be too late if I waited until some man who was implacably hostile to me got on top? In addition, I felt that I knew more about the final fate of each Chinese dynasty than anyone else. For 25 centuries the last Emperor of each dynasty had usually been murdered, and the last Ming Emperor (of the dynasty preceding my own) had hanged himself on Coal Hill outside the Forbidden City.