a careful compromise “based on the special requirements of the case,”
the result of which was that Prince Ch’un was permitted to resign his
offices and excused from attendance at all Court ceremonies involving
obeisance to the Emperor, but was retained in a sort of general capacity
as “adviser to the Empresses Regent” to serve when called upon. On the
birthdays of the Empresses Regent, he would be permitted to prostrate
himself before them in private, and not as a member of the Court in
attendance on the Emperor. His first class Princedom was made hereditary
for ever, and he was commanded to give the benefit of his experience
and sage counsel to his successor, Prince Tun, as officer commanding
the Manchu Field Force—an order which he must have obeyed, for the
Force in question became more and more notorious for its tatterdemalion
uselessness and the corruption of its commanders.
Remembering the institution of the first Regency, it will be noted how
faithfully history can be made to repeat itself in the Celestial Empire.
IX
THE PROTEST AND SUICIDE OF WU K’O-TU
Immediately after the death of T’ung-Chih’s young widow, the validity of
the Imperial succession and the violation of all traditions which Tzŭ
Hsi had committed, became a matter of grave concern to the conservative
and more conscientious supporters of the Dynasty. The first evidence
of dissatisfaction was contained in a Memorial submitted by a Manchu
sub-Chancellor of the Grand Secretariat who, while accepting the
situation as it stood in regard to the boy Emperor, Kuang-Hsü, stipulated
that safeguards or guarantees should be given by the Throne for the
eventual regulation of the succession and for the provision of heirs to
His orbate Majesty, T’ung-Chih. The Memorial was as follows:—
“The selection of an heir to the Throne is a matter resting
entirely with the Sovereign and beyond scope of interference or
criticism by any subject. But in cases where the arrangements
made necessitate modification in order to render them perfect,
a loyal subject is justified, if not compelled, to speak his
mind freely.
“The whole Empire looked forward to seeing our late Emperor
enjoy a long and prosperous reign, but he has passed away
without leaving any posterity. The selection of a successor
which your Majesties the Empresses Dowager have, in your
wisdom, decided upon is admirable no doubt, particularly since
you have promised that an heir shall eventually be provided for
His Majesty, T’ung-Chih. This proves that in regulating the
dynastic succession, you are proceeding precisely as if it
were a case of adoption from one family into another: you have
therefore wisely decided that not only shall a son be adopted
to the late Emperor, but that in due course his succession will
be carried on by a grandson in the direct line of generation,
so that His Majesty’s posterity may be established without a
break, and perpetuated without intermission for all time.
“The proposal in itself is excellent, but study of the Sung
Dynasty’s history has led me to view the matter with no small
apprehension. The founder of that Dynasty, the Emperor Chao
Kuang-yin (tenth century), following the directions of his
mother the Empress Dowager, made his brother heir to the Throne
instead of his son, it being understood that upon his brother’s
death the succession should revert to his son.[30] Subsequently
however, the brother, having come to the Throne, and having
listened to the evil suggestions of his Privy Councillors,
ignored the claims of his nephew, and placed his own son upon
the Throne. In that instance, obedience to the wishes of his
mother has brought down upon the Emperor Chao Kuang-yin the
undying censure of posterity. If the Empress, on that occasion,
had done her duty, and had caused unbreakable bonds to be given
assuring the reversion of the succession to the direct line,
no irregularities could possibly have occurred: the Decrees
would have been as immovable as the Sacred Mountain, and as
self-evident as the nine tripods of the Emperor Yü. It would
have been impossible for any misguided Councillors of State to
justify their unlawful interference with the rightful course of
succession.
“From all this we learn that the succession, although decided
in a moment, affects all posterity. Was it not, moreover,
by self-sacrifice and strong family affections[31] that
our Dynasty acquired the Empire: have we not for example
the records of each succeeding virtuous Emperor? We cannot
therefore entertain any doubt but that the present Emperor,
when he comes to have an heir, will forthwith make him son
by adoption to the late Emperor, so that the succession may
proceed along the direct line. No doubt this is the intention,
but, as history shows, there exists a danger that, with the
lapse of time, suggestions may be put forward similar to
those of the Privy Council nine centuries ago, which would
utterly frustrate the wise policy animating your Majesties the
Empresses Dowager, and leave no fixed principles for posterity
to follow. With your approval, therefore, we would ask that the
Princes and Ministers be now required to draw up and record an
unbreakable and unchangeable pledge as to the succession to the
Throne, which should be proclaimed for the information of all
your Majesties’ subjects.”
Tzŭ Hsi was becoming decidedly irritable on this subject of the
succession, and there can be little doubt that her own conscience and the
views of patriotic Memorialists came to much the same conclusion. The
Rescript which she issued on the present occasion was short, sharp, and
suggestive of temper:—
“We have already issued an absolutely clear Decree on this
subject,” she said, “providing for an heir to the late Emperor,
and the Decree has been published all over the Empire. The
Memorialist’s present request gives evidence of unspeakable
audacity and an inveterate habit of fault-finding, which has
greatly enraged us, so that we hereby convey to him a stern
rebuke.”
The Memorials and remonstrances of many high officials emphasised the
seriousness of this question of the legitimacy of the Imperial succession
to the nation at large, and its profound effect on the fundamental
principles of ancestor worship. Nevertheless, having delivered their
souls, the Mandarinate, led by the Peking Boards, were disposed to
acquiesce in the _fait accompli_; in any case, there was no sign of
organised opinion in opposition to the will of the Empress Dowager. The
irregularity was evidently serious, and Heaven would doubtless visit
the sins of the Throne, as usual, on the unoffending “stupid people”;
but the individualism and mutual suspicion that peculiarly distinguish
the Chinese official world, precluded all idea of concerted action or
remedial measures.
One official, however, had the full courage of his convictions, and, by
the time-honoured expedient of self-destruction, focussed the attention
of the nation on the gravity of the question, as no amount of fine
writing could have done. Resort to suicide by indignant patriots, as a
proof of their sincere distress, is a practice praised and justified
alike by historians in China and Japan, and there is no denying that, as
an argument against all forms of despotism, it has the crowning merit of
finality. It has, moreover, certain qualities of deliberate courage and
cultured philosophy that bring irresistibly to mind the Roman patrician
at his best, and which fully account for the distinction which such a
death confers amongst a people that loves its orthodoxies, as it loves
peace, undisturbed.
The name which will go down in Chinese history, as the defender of the
national and true faith in connection with the illegal succession of the
infant Emperor Kuang-Hsü, is that of the Censor, Wu K’o-tu, an upright
and fearless scholar of the best type. For the reasons stated in his
farewell Memorial, he waited four years after the death of the Emperor
T’ung-Chih, hoping against hope that the widespread dissatisfaction
of the _literati_ and officials would take definite form, and lead
the Empress Dowager to regulate the future succession, and to placate
the disinherited ghost of T’ung-Chih, by the issue of a new Decree.
Disappointed in this hope, he seized the classically correct occasion
of the late Emperor’s funeral (1879) to commit suicide near his grave,
taking care to leave behind him a swan-song which, as he knew, will live
long in the memory of scholars and officials throughout the Empire. His
death had the immediate effect of convincing Tzŭ Hsi of error. Realising
the strength of public opinion underlying the Censor’s protest, she
endeavoured at once to placate his accusing spirit by giving the pledges
for which he had pleaded, in regard to provision in the future of a
successor to T’ung-Chih. Nor was it on this occasion only that the death
of Wu K’o-tu influenced her actions and disturbed her superstitious mind.
In after years, and especially at the time of the flight to Hsi-an, she
recognised his influence, and the punishment of her misdeed, in the
disasters which had overtaken the Throne.
As an example of the principles of action, and the calm frame of mind
which are the fine flower of the Confucian system of philosophy, and,
therefore, worthy of our close and sympathetic study, we give the full
story of the death of this patriotic protestant, as well as a translation
of his Memorial.
His suicide took place in a small temple at Ma-shen ch’iao, close to
the mausoleum of T’ung-Chih. His minutely detailed instructions for
the disposal of his remains, with the least possible trouble to his
family and friends, bespeak the gentleman and the scholar. To the
priest in charge of the shrine, a “bad man,” he addressed the following
characteristic letter:—
“Priest Chou, be not afraid. I have no desire to bring evil
upon you. I was compelled to borrow the use of your plot of
hallowed ground, as a spot appropriate for the death of an
honest man. Inform now the Magistrate at once, and see that
the Memorial enclosed in my despatch box is forwarded without
delay. Buy for me a cheap coffin and have it painted black
inside. My clothes are all in order, only the leather soles
of my boots require to be cut off before you lay me in your
coffin. I have cut my finger slightly, which accounts for the
blood stains that you may notice. Twenty taels will be ample
for my coffin. I should not think that the Magistrate will need
to hold an inquest. Please have a coating of lacquer put on
the coffin, to fill up any cracks in the joints, and have it
nailed down, pending the Empresses’ decision as to my remains.
Then, buy a few feet of ground adjoining the late Emperor’s
tomb, and have me buried quickly.[32] There is no need for
me to be buried in my ancestral cemetery; any spot is a good
enough resting place for a loyal and honest man.
“You will find forty-five taels in my box, of which you
may keep the balance after paying for my coffin and burial
expenses. As to my watch, and the other articles on my person,
it is known at my home exactly what I brought here with me. You
must see to it that no one is permitted to insult my corpse,
and my son will be deeply grateful to you for performing these
last offices for me, in his place. You need not fear that the
Magistrate’s underlings will make trouble for you, but be
careful not to tamper with the box containing my Memorial to
the Empresses.
“You can cut my body down to-morrow morning, and then have it
placed in some cool and shady spot. Fearing that possibly you
might come in by accident and find me hanging, I have taken a
dose of opium, so as to make certain of death. If you should
dare to meddle with my private affairs, as you have been trying
to do these past few days, it will only lead to your being
mixed up in the case, which might bring you to grief.
“All I ask of you is that you notify the Magistrate at
once, and that you do not allow women and children to come
in and gaze upon my remains. There is nothing strange or
abnormal here; death had become an unavoidable duty. Those
who understand me, will pity; that is all. The last earnest
instructions of Wu K’o-tu.”
Next, to his son, he expressed his dying wishes in a letter which
embodies many of the Confucian scholar’s most cherished ideals and
beliefs, a document pathetic in its simple dignity, its pride of ancient
lineage and duty well done according to his lights.
“Chih-huan, my son, be not alarmed when you hear the news of
my death, and on no account allow your grief to disturb the
family. Your mother is old, your wife is young, and my poor
little grandchildren are but babies. Tell them that I am dead,
but bid them not to grieve over my suicide. Our family tree
goes back over five hundred years; for two centuries there have
been members of our clan among the Imperial concubines, and
for three hundred years we have devoted ourselves to husbandry
and scholarship. For eighteen generations our family has borne
a good name; I, who am now seventy years of age, can claim an
unsullied record, although as a lad I was somewhat given to
dissipation. No man can truthfully accuse me of having failed
to observe the main principles of duty, and it is for this
reason that my friends and former pupils have always sought my
services as a teacher of the Confucian doctrine. Quite recently
I declined the pressing invitation of the Grand Secretary, the
Marquis Tso Tsung-t’ang, who wished me to become tutor to his
family, because the date was at hand for His late Majesty’s
burial, and I desired quietly to await to-day’s event.
“Ever since, at the age of twenty-four, I took my M.A.
degree, I have been of prudent conduct, and have observed the
proprieties in official life. In the study of history I have
ever been deeply touched by examples of patriotism and loyalty
to the Sovereign, and the splendid lives of the ancients have
moved me, now to tears and again to exuberance of joy.
“Upon the death of the late Emperor, I had determined to
memorialise the Empresses Dowager, through the Censorate, and
had fully made up my mind to accept my fate for so doing; but
an old friend, to whom I showed the draft, begged me not to
forward it, not only because I had already been punished for
similar rashness on a former occasion, but because he said
some of its allusions to current events were not absolutely
accurate. Therefore I waited until to-day, but now I can wait
no longer. It is my wish to die, in order that the purpose of
my life may be fittingly accomplished and a lifetime of loyalty
consummated. My death is in no way due to the slanders which
have been circulated about me.
“When you receive this letter, come straightway to the Temple
of the Threefold Duties at the bridge of the God of Horses,
twelve miles to the east of Chi Chou and quite close to the
Imperial mausolea. There seek out the Taoist priest, Chou;
he knows my burial place, and I have asked him to buy me a
coffin and to have it painted black inside. My burial clothes
are all in order, but I have asked him to cut off the leather
soles from my boots.[33] He is to buy a certain small piece of
ground, close to the Imperial tomb, which is to be my grave.
This will be far better than having my remains taken to the
ancestral burial ground, and there is really no need for me
to rest there, as my younger brother already lies beside your
grandparents. He, you remember, committed suicide twenty years
ago at his house in Peking, because of private troubles, and
now I follow his example, because of disorder in the State.
People will say, no doubt, that our family burial ground is
become a place of evil omen, but pay no heed to them. No doubt
you will desire to take home my remains, but do not so. Take
instead my photograph, the one I had taken just before I left
Peking, and have an enlargement of it hung up in our family
hall. Thus shall you observe the old custom which preserves
relics of the departed. Why go to the expense and trouble of
transporting a coffin over a thousand miles?
“Even though it should happen that the Empresses should
cause dire penalties to be inflicted upon my corpse because
of my effrontery of language, you may be sure that in this
enlightened age, there is no possibility of my offences being
visited upon my wife and family. All you need do is to borrow
from our friends money enough to take you from Peking, and
after that, you must make the best of your way to our family
home, begging if necessary. On no account must you remain in
Peking, for by so doing you will only attract attention and
further endanger your father.[34]
“What I chiefly deprecate in you, my son, is your quick tongue;
you must really try to amend your ways in this respect and
endeavour to be less hasty. If people tell you that your
father was loyal, do not contradict them; if they say he was
an honest man, you should agree. Read carefully the advice
of Ma Yüan, the great General, to his nephew, and Wang Hou’s
admonitions to his sons.
“When your mother married me she had good prospects, as the
daughter of an old military family. Since her marriage she has
dutifully served my parents, and her reputation for filial
devotion is excellent. I regret that I was not destined to
bring her happiness and good fortune: she is old now, and you
alone are left to her. It is your duty to take her to our home
and minister to her old age.
“As regards the few poor acres of land left me by my father,
I feel that I cannot reasonably expect you to follow the
example of the ancient worthies and to surrender it all to your
brothers, but at least I ask that you should allow them to live
amicably with you. Your wife is a sensible woman—tell her from
me that the happiness of every household depends on the temper
of its womenfolk. I knew one woman who feigned death in order
to induce her husband to treat his brothers more kindly, but
this was a heroic act, far above the moral capacity of your
wife.
“As to the forty taels[35] which you will find on my person,
you will hand over to the Taoist priest, Chou, any balance
there may remain after he has paid for my coffin and burial
expenses. On arriving at Chi Chou, go at once and see the
Magistrate, to whom I have written; thence proceed to the
temple, where you must give them some extra money to compensate
them for all the trouble they have had. Thereafter return to
Peking, and there await the Empresses’ decision in regard to my
case.
“See to it that my small debts are all paid, that my life may
end in fitting and harmonious dignity. At a moment like this, I
am naturally agitated in mind. It is hard to foretell what the
decision of the Empresses may be, but at least my conscience
is clear, and what does anything else matter? For your own
personal safety, I do not think you need have any fear.
“Present my compliments to Chang Chih-tung: I only wish I
could have had more of the old time talks with him. Go also
to the Marquis Tso Tsung-t’ang. He has not treated me well of
late, but slanders poisoned his sympathy, at which I do not
wonder. The memory of his former kindnesses is precious to me,
and I know that he will never let you starve.
“Your wife, in giving birth to my grandchildren, has conferred
blessings upon me; you must never think of allowing her parents
to provide for you. Leave therefore at once for our family
home. There must be no delay about this. As to the Taoist
priest, it irks me to make use of people in this way. He is
a bad man; yet must we bear with him. Tell him that I regret
having put his temple to this purpose; he need only spend ten
taels on my coffin and a few taels more for the little plot of
ground to bury me in. I am a worthless official and deserve
nothing better than this.
“Why have I delayed so long? Because I did not wish to disturb
the Empresses with the news of my death at this critical time.
All the Decrees which have appeared since the Emperor Kuang-Hsü
came to the Throne have moved me greatly, and much have I
deplored my inability to serve Their Majesties better. In days
of old, loyal servants of the State were wont to commit suicide
as an act of remonstrance against the degeneracy of their
Sovereigns. Not for a moment are the Empresses to be compared
to monarchs like Ming Huang of the T’ang Dynasty, who deserted
his capital before the invader, or Li Tsung, of the Sungs,
whose foolishness led to the Mongol wars. Nevertheless my death
is due to the same principles as those which actuated those
faithful Councillors.
“Go home now, and teach your children to study. Do not open my
Memorial to the Empresses. It is sealed, and I have asked the
local Magistrate to forward it for presentation.”
His Memorial to the Throne was, in fact (as the letter to his son plainly
indicates), an indictment of the degeneracy of the ruler of the Empire;
incidentally, it throws much light on the orthodox point of view in
regard to the question of the Imperial succession. Its preamble sets
forth the object with which it was written, and in the hope of which
the writer died, namely, to induce the Empress Dowager to determine
the future succession, providing an heir to the Emperor T’ung-Chih, in
accordance with precedent and the laws of the Dynasty. The text of this
remarkable document is as follows:—
“I, your worthless servant, have heard that the fact of a
nation being well governed does not necessarily preclude all
possibility of anarchy, nor does a nation at peace dismiss
altogether from mind the chances of violent disturbance; should
anarchy and rebellion be regarded as possibilities too remote
to merit a thought, it were idle and superfluous to advise the
Sovereign of so perfect a State. To ask the Imperial wisdom to
see danger where no real peril exists would be simply inviting
evil omens.
“On a former occasion I, your guilty servant, wittingly
incurred danger of death or imprisonment, because, in the heat
of indignation, I dared to remonstrate with the Throne. At
that time the Princes and Ministers about your Throne asked
permission to subject me to a criminal enquiry, but His late
Majesty T’ung-Chih was pleased to spare me, so that I neither
suffered death by the headsman’s sword nor imprisonment, nor
did I run the risk of further exciting the Imperial wrath by
my evidence before a criminal court. Thrice have I deserved,
without receiving, the penalty of death. Without desiring my
forfeit life, it was granted me, so that my last few years have
been, as it were, a boon at the hands of His late Majesty.
“But on the 5th day of the 12th Moon of the 13th year of
T’ung-Chih the earth was rent and heaven itself was shaken by
the great catastrophe, and on that day their Majesties the
Empresses Dowager issued the following Decree: ‘The departed
Emperor has mounted the Dragon and is become a guest on high,
leaving no heir to the Throne. We are compelled to appoint
Tsai T’ien, son of Prince Ch’un, to be heir to His Majesty
Hsien-Feng, to enter on the great inheritance as the new
Emperor. When to him an heir shall be born, he shall become son
by adoption to the late Emperor T’ung-Chih.’
“I, your unworthy servant, wept bitterly as, reverently
kneeling, I read this Decree. I cannot but feel, after most
careful consideration, that the Empresses Dowager have doubly
erred in appointing an heir to the Emperor Hsien-Feng and not
to His late Majesty. For thus the new Emperor, being heir to
His Majesty Hsien-Feng, enters upon the great heritage not, as
he should, by mandate of His late Majesty T’ung-Chih, but by
mandate of the Empresses. Hence the future succession must, as
a matter of course, revert to the heir of the new Emperor, even
though there should be no explicit instructions to that effect.
But, as this Decree expressly ordains that this shall be so, it
follows that a precedent will be established, whereby the great
inheritance may pass by adoption.