taken; the Empress Dowager was very shabbily dressed, so as to
be almost unrecognisable, the Chinese mode of hair-dressing
producing a very remarkable alteration in her appearance.
On the first night after leaving Peking, they slept, like
travellers of the lowest class, on the raised brick platform
of the inn, where not even rice was obtainable for the evening
meal, so that they were compelled to eat common porridge made
of millet. In all the disasters recorded in history, never has
there been such a pitiful spectacle.
“It was only after reaching Huai-lai that their condition
improved somewhat, but even then the number of personal
attendants and eunuchs was very small, and not a single
concubine was there to wait upon the Old Buddha. For the first
few days’ flight, neither Prince Li, nor Jung Lu, nor Ch’i Hsiu
(all of them Grand Councillors), were in attendance so that
Her Majesty nominated Prince Tuan to serve on the Council. She
reviled him at the outset severely, reproaching him for the
misfortunes which had overtaken the Dynasty, but as time went
on, as he shared with her the privations and troubles of the
day’s journey, she became more gracious towards him. This was
to some extent due to the very great influence which Prince
Tuan’s wife exercised at Court.
“When I reached Huai-lai, the Court consisted of the Princes
Tuan, Ching, Na, Su, and P’u Lun, with a following of high
officials led by Kang Yi, and some twenty Secretaries. General
Ma’s troops and some of the Banner Corps of Prince Tuan formed
the Imperial escort; and they plundered every town and village
on their line of march. This, however, is hardly remarkable,
because all the shops had been closed and there were no
provisions to be purchased anywhere.
“To go back for a few days. Yü Lu (Viceroy of Chihli) shot
himself in a coffin shop at a place south of the Hunting Park,
and Li Ping-heng took poison after the defeat of his troops
at T’ungchow. The Court’s flight had already been discussed
after the first advance of the Allies from T’ungchow towards
Peking; but the difficulty in providing sufficient transport
was considered insuperable. On the 19th of the Moon a steady
cannonade began at about midnight, and, from my house in Magpie
Lane, one could note, by the volume of sound, that the attack
was steadily advancing closer to the city, and eventually
bullets came whistling as thick as hail. The bombardment
reached its height at about noon on the 20th, when news was
brought that two gates of the Imperial City had been taken
by storm. I was unable to verify this report. It was my turn
for night duty at the Palace, but after the last audience, I
was unable to enter the Forbidden City, as all its gates were
barred. It was only at 7 A.M. on the 21st inst. (August 15th)
that I was able to gain admittance to the Forbidden City, and
then I learned that their Majesties had hurriedly fled. On the
previous day five urgent audiences with the Grand Council had
been held; at the last of these only Kang Yi, Chao Shu ch’iao,
and myself were present. Sadly regarding us, the Old Buddha
said, ‘I see there are only three of you left. No doubt all the
rest have fled, leaving us, mother and son, to our fate. I want
you all to come with me on my journey.’ Turning to me she then
said, ‘You are too old. I would not wish you to share in all
this hardship. Follow us as best you can later on.’ The Emperor
expressed his wishes in the same sense.
“By this time it was nearly midnight, and they still hesitated
about leaving the city; judge then of my surprise to learn
that, at the first streak of dawn, their Majesties had left
the city in indescribable disorder and frantic haste. I could
not return to my house that day because all the gates of the
Imperial City were closed, but at 10 A.M. on the following day,
I made my way out of the Houmen.[104] On my way I came across
Jung Lu; he had fainted in his chair, and had been forsaken
by his cowardly bearers. He said: ‘This is the end. You and I
never believed in these Boxers; see now to what a pass they
have brought the Old Buddha. If you see Her Majesty, tell her
that I have gone to rally the troops, and that, if I live, I
will join her later on.’
“After leaving Jung Lu, I made my way to a little temple which
lies midway between the North and the North-West Gates of the
city, and there I rested a while. It was the opinion of the
Abbot in charge that the foreigners would burn every temple
of the city, as all of them had been used by the Boxers for
their magic rites, and he said that, in times of dire peril
such as this, it was really inconvenient for him to offer
any hospitality to visitors. Just at this moment news was
brought us that the foreign troops were on the wall of the
city, between the two gates nearest to us, and that they were
firing down upon the streets; the city was already invested,
but the foreigners were not molesting civilians, though
they were shooting all ‘braves’ and men in uniform. As the
priest declined to receive me, I sought refuge at the house
of a man named Han, retainer in the Imperial Household, who
lived close by. All my chair-bearers and servants had fled.
Shortly after noon I heard that one might still leave Peking
by the Hsi-chih Men; so leaving everything—carts, chairs, and
animals—where they were, I started off at dusk on foot with
such money and clothing as I had on my person. The road ahead
of me was blocked by a dense crowd of refugees. I took the
road by the Drum Tower, skirting the lakes to the north of the
Imperial City. Towards evening a dreadful thunderstorm came
on, so I took refuge for the night with the Ching family. The
bombardment had ceased by this time, but the whole northern
part of the Imperial City appeared to be in flames, which
broke out in fresh places all through the night. At three in
the morning we heard that the West Gates were opened, and that
the City Guards had fled, but that the foreigners had not yet
reached that part of the city.
“I had intended to travel by cart, but the disorganised troops
had by this time seized every available beast of burden. My
second son, however, was luckily able to persuade Captain Liu
to fetch one of my carts out from the city, and this was done
after several narrow escapes. I had left Peking on foot, but
at the bridge close to the North-West Gate I found this cart
awaiting me, and with it my second son, who was riding on a
mule, and the five servants who remained to us following on
foot. When we reached Hai-Tien (a town which lies close to the
Summer Palace) every restaurant was closed, but we managed to
get a little food, and then hurried on after their Majesties
to Kuanshih, where we passed the night. Next day, continuing
our journey, we learned that their Majesties were halting at
Huai-lai, where we overtook them on the 24th day of the Moon.
We expect to reach T’ai-yüan fu about the middle of next week.
“The dangers of our journey are indescribable. Every shop
on the road had been plundered by bands of routed troops,
who pretend to be part of the Imperial escort. These bandits
are ahead of us at every stage of the journey, and they have
stripped the country-side bare, so that when the Imperial party
reaches any place, and the escort endeavour to commandeer
supplies, the distress of the inhabitants and the confusion
which ensues are really terrible to witness. The districts
through which we have passed are literally devastated.”
From Huai-lai the Court moved on to Hsüan-hua fu, a three days’ march,
and there remained for four days, resting and preparing for the journey
into Shansi. The Border Warden at Sha-ho chên had provided their
Majesties with green (official) sedan chairs, and the usual etiquette of
the Court and Grand Council was being gradually restored. Her Majesty’s
spirits were excellent, and she took a keen interest in everything.
At Chi-ming yi, for instance, she was with difficulty dissuaded from
stopping to visit a temple on the summit of an adjoining hill, in honour
of which shrine the Emperor Kanghsi had left a tablet carved with a
memorial inscription in verse.
At Hsüan-hua fu there was considerable disorder, but the Court enjoyed
increased comforts; thanks to the zeal and energy of the local Magistrate
(Ch’en Pen). Here the Old Buddha received Prince Ch’ing’s first despatch
from Peking, which gave a deplorable account of the situation.
The Court left Hsüan-hua on the 25th August (its numbers being increased
by the Emperor’s Consort with a few of her personal attendants) and spent
the night at a garrison station called Tso-Wei. The deplorable state of
the country was reflected in the accommodation they found there; for the
guards had fled, and the official quarters had all been plundered and
burnt, with the exception of two small rooms, evil-smelling and damp.
There was no food to be had, except bread made of sodden flour. One of
the two available rooms was occupied by the Old Buddha, the other by
Kuang Hsü and his Consort, while all the officials of the Court, high
and low, fared as best they might in the stuffy courtyard. For once the
venerable mother’s composure deserted her. “This is abominable,” she
complained; “the place swarms with insects, and I cannot sleep a wink. It
is disgraceful that I should have come to such a pass at my time of life.
My state is worse even than that of the Emperor Hsüan-Tsung of the T’ang
Dynasty, who was forced to fly from his capital, and saw his favourite
concubine murdered before his very eyes.” An unsubstantiated report that
the Allies had plundered her palace treasure vaults was not calculated to
calm Her Majesty, and for a while the suite went in fear of her wrath.
On August 27th the Court crossed the Shansi border, and spent the night
at T’ien-chen hsien. The local Magistrate, a Manchu, had committed
suicide after hearing of the fall of Moukden and other Manchurian cities;
and the town was in a condition of ruinous disorder. Their Majesties
supped off a meal hastily provided by the Gaol Warder. But their courage
was restored by the arrival of Ts’en Ch’un-hsüan,[105] an official of
high intelligence and courage, who greatly pleased the Old Buddha by
bringing her a gift of eggs and a girdle and pouch for her pipe and purse.
On the 30th August the Court lay at Ta-t’ung fu, in the Yamên of the
local Brigadier-General. They stayed here four days, enjoying the greatly
improved accommodation which the General’s efforts had secured for them.
On September 4th, they reached the market town of T’ai-yüeh, having
travelled thirty-five miles that day, and here again they found damp
rooms and poor fare. But Her Majesty’s spirits had recovered. On the
16th, while crossing the hill-pass of the “Flighting Geese,” Her Majesty
ordered a halt in order to enjoy the view. “It reminds me of the Jehol
Country,” she said. Then, turning to the Emperor, “After all, it’s
delightful to get away like this from Peking and to see the world, isn’t
it?” “Under happier circumstances, it would be,” replied Kuang Hsü. At
this point Ts’en Ch’un-hsüan brought Her Majesty a large bouquet of
yellow flowers, a present which touched her deeply: in return she sent
him a jar of butter-milk tea.
On the 7th, the only accommodation which the local officials had been
able to prepare at Yüan-p’ing was a mud-house belonging to one of the
common people, in which, by an oversight, several empty coffins had
been left. Ts’en, arriving ahead of the party, was told of this, and
galloped to make excuses to Her Majesty and take her orders. Happily,
the “Motherly Countenance” was not moved to wrath, and “the divine
condescension was manifested.” “If the coffins can be moved, move them,”
she said; “but so long as they are not in the main room, I do not greatly
mind their remaining.” They were all removed, however, and the Old Buddha
was protected from possibly evil influences.
On the 8th September, at Hsin Chou, three Imperial (yellow) chairs had
been provided by the local officials, so that their Majesties’ entrance
into T’ai-yüan fu, on the 10th, was not unimposing. The Court took up
its residence in the Governor’s Yamên (that same bloodstained building
in which, six weeks before, Yü Hsien had massacred the missionaries). Yü
Hsien, the Governor, met their Imperial Majesties outside the city walls,
and knelt by the roadside as the Old Buddha’s palanquin came up. She bade
her bearers stop, and called to him to approach. When he had done so,
she said: “At your farewell audience, in the last Moon of the last year,
you assured me that the Boxers were really invulnerable. Alas! You were
wrong, and now Peking has fallen! But you did splendidly in carrying out
my orders and in ridding Shansi of the whole brood of foreign devils.
Everyone speaks well of you for this, and I know, besides, how high is
your reputation for good and honest work. Nevertheless, and because the
foreign devils are loudly calling for vengeance upon you, I may have to
dismiss you from office, as I had to do with Li Ping-heng: but be not
disturbed in mind, for, if I do this, it is only to throw dust in the
eyes of the barbarians, for our own ends. We must just bide our time, and
hope for better days.”
Yü Hsien kowtowed, as in duty bound, nine times, and replied: “Your
Majesty’s slave caught them as in a net, and allowed neither chicken nor
dog to escape: yet am I ready to accept punishment and dismissal from my
post. As to the Boxers, they have been defeated because they failed to
abide by the laws of the Order, and because they killed and plundered
innocent people who were not Christians.”
This conversation was clearly heard by several bystanders, one of whom
reported it in a letter to Shanghai. When Yü Hsien had finished speaking,
the Old Buddha sighed, and told her bearers to proceed. A few days later
she issued the first of the Expiatory Decrees by which Yü Hsien and
other Boxer leaders were dismissed from office, but not before she had
visited the courtyard where the hapless missionaries had met their fate,
and cross-examined Yü Hsien on every detail of that butchery. And it is
recorded, that, while she listened eagerly to this tale of unspeakable
cowardice and cruelty, the Heir Apparent was swaggering noisily up and
down the courtyard, brandishing the huge sword given him by Yü Hsien,
with which his devil’s work had been done. No better example could be
cited of this remarkable woman’s primitive instincts and elemental
passion of vindictiveness.
Once more, during the Court’s residence at T’ai-yüan, did the Old Buddha
and Yü Hsien meet. At this audience, realising the determination of
the foreigners to exact the death penalty in this case, and realising
also the Governor’s popularity with the inhabitants of T’ai-yüan, she
told him, with unmistakable significance, that the price of coffins was
rising, a plain but euphemistic hint that he would do well to commit
suicide before a worse fate overtook him.
Her Majesty was much gratified at the splendid accommodation provided
for her at T’ai-yüan, and particularly pleased to see all the gold and
silver vessels and utensils that had been made in 1775 for Ch’ien Lung’s
progress to the sacred shrines of Wu-T’ai shan; they had been polished
up for the occasion and made a brave show, so that the “Benevolent
Countenance” beamed with delight. “We have nothing like this in Peking,”
she said.
[Illustration: MARBLE BRIDGE IN THE GROUNDS OF THE LAKE PALACE.
_Photo, Betines, Peking._]
[Illustration: IN THE GROUNDS OF THE PALACE IN THE WESTERN PARK.
_Photo, Betines, Peking._]
Jung Lu joined the Court on the day after its arrival at T’ai-yüan, and
was most affectionately welcomed by the Old Buddha, to whom he gave
a full account of his journey through Chihli and of the widespread
devastation wrought by the Boxers. He had previously sent in the
following Memorial which clearly reflects those qualities which
had endeared him to his Imperial Mistress, and which so honourably
distinguished him from the sycophants and classical imbeciles of the
Court:—
“At dawn, on the 21st day of the 7th Moon (15th August) your
Majesty’s servant proceeded to the Gate of Reverend Peace
(inside the Palace), and learned that your Majesties’ sacred
chariot had left for the West. While there I came across Ch’ung
Ch’i,[106] the President of the Board of Revenue, and we were
proposing to hurry after your Majesties, when we learned that
the North-Eastern and Northern Gates of the city had fallen. So
we left Peking by another gate, my first object being to try
and rally some of the troops. But after several conferences
with Generals Sung Ch’ing and Tung Fu-hsiang, I was forced to
the conclusion that our repeated defeats had been too severe,
and that, in the absence of large reinforcements, there was
no hope of our being able to take the field again. Our men
were in a state of complete panic and had lost all stomach for
fighting. I therefore left and came on to Pao-t’ing fu, and
lodged there with Ch’ung Ch’i in the “Water Lily” Garden. All
night long he and I discussed the situation, hoping to see
some way out of the misfortunes which had overtaken the State.
Ch’ung Ch’i could not conceal the bitterness of his grief,
and on the morning of the next day he hanged himself in one
of the outer courtyards, leaving a letter for me in which was
enclosed his valedictory Memorial to your Majesties, together
with a set of verses written just before his death. These I
now forward for your Majesty’s gracious perusal, because I
feel that his suicide deserves your pity, just as his high
sense of duty merits your praise. He was indeed a man of the
purest integrity, and had all the will, though, alas, not
the power, to avert the misfortunes which have befallen us.
He had always looked upon the magic arts of the Boxers with
profound contempt, unworthy even of the effort of a smile
from a wise man. At this critical juncture, the loss of my
trusted colleague is indeed a heavy blow, but I am compelled
to remember that the position which I hold, all unworthily, as
your Majesty’s Commander-in-Chief, necessitates my bearing the
burden of my heavy responsibilities so long as the breath of
life is in my body.
“Such makeshift arrangements as were feasible I made for the
temporary disposal of Ch’ung Ch’i’s remains, and I now forward
the present Memorial by special courier to your Majesty,
informing you of the manner of his decease, because I hold
it to be unfitting that his end should pass unnoticed and
unhonoured. Your Majesty will, no doubt, determine on the
posthumous honours to be accorded to him.
“It is now my intention to proceed, with what speed I may, to
T’ai-yüan fu, there to pay my reverent duty to your Majesty
and to await the punishment due for my failure to avert these
calamities.”
In reply to this Memorial, Tzŭ Hsi conferred high posthumous honours upon
Ch’ung Ch’i, praising his loyalty and honesty.
Jung Lu proceeded on his journey, but at a town on the Chihli border his
wife took ill and died. She had only joined him at Pao-t’ing fu. The Old
Buddha welcomed him with sincere affection upon his arrival at T’ai-yüan
and raised his secondary wife, the Lady Liu, to the rank of “Fu Jen”
or legitimate consort. (This lady had always had great influence with
the Empress Dowager, which increased during the exile of the Court, and
became most noticeable after the return to Peking.)
Tzŭ Hsi asked Jung Lu for his advice as to her future policy. Bluntly,
as was his wont, he replied “Old Buddha, there is only one way. You must
behead Prince Tuan and all the rest of the Princes and Ministers who
misled you and then you must return to Peking.”
An incident, vouched for by a high Manchu official attached to the Court,
illustrates the relations at this time existing between the Emperor,
the Empress Dowager, and Jung Lu. When the latter reached T’ai-yüan fu,
Kuang-Hsü sent a special messenger to summon him. “I am glad you have
come at last,” said His Majesty. “I desire that you will have Prince Tuan
executed without delay.”
“How can I do so without the Empress Dowager’s orders?” he replied. “The
days are past when no other Decree but your Majesty’s was needed.”[107]
Jung Lu’s position, but for the high favour of the Empress Dowager,
would have been full of danger, for he was disliked by reactionaries
and reformers alike; surrounded by extremists, his intuitive common
sense, his doctrine of the “happy mean” had made him many enemies. Nor
could he lay claim to a reputation for that “purest integrity” which
he had so greatly admired in his colleague Ch’ung Ch’i. At T’ai-yüan
fu, he was openly denounced to the Old Buddha for having connived in
the embezzlements of a certain Ch’en Tsê-lin, who had been robbing
the military Treasury on a grand scale. Jung Lu had ordered that his
defalcations be made good, but subsequently informed the Throne that the
money had been captured by the Allies, and the accusing Censor did not
hesitate to say that the price of his conversion (brought to his quarters
by the hands of a sergeant named Yao) had been forty thousand taels of
silver, twenty pounds of best birdnests, and four cases of silk. The
Empress Dowager shelved the Memorial, as was her wont, though no doubt
she used the information for the ultimate benefit of her privy purse.
Jung Lu also received vast sums of money and many valuable presents on
his birthday, and at the condolence ceremonies for the death of his wife,
so much so that he incurred the fierce jealousy of the chief eunuch Li
Lien-ying, who was doing his best at this time to re-feather his own
nest, despoiled by the troops of the Allies.
At T’ai-yüan fu, so many officials had joined the Court that intrigues
became rife; there was much heartburning as to precedence and status.
Those who had borne the burden and heat of the day, the dangers and the
hardships of the flight from Peking, claimed special recognition and
seniority at the hands of their Imperial Mistress. Each of these thought
they should be privileged above those of equal rank who had only rejoined
the Court when all danger was past, and still more so above those who
were now hurrying up from the provinces in search of advancement.
The chief topic of discussion at audience, and at meetings of the
Grand Council, was the question of the Court’s return to Peking, or of
the removal of the Capital to one of the chief cities of the South or
West. Chang Chih-tung had put in a Memorial, strongly recommending the
city of Tang-Yang in Hupei, on account of its central position. One of
the arguments gravely put forward by the “scholarly bungler” for this
proposal was, that the characters “Tang-Yang” (which mean “facing south”)
were in themselves of good augury, and an omen of better days to come,
because the Emperor always sits with his face to the south. Chang’s
enemies at Court saw in this idea a veiled hint that the Emperor should
be restored to power.
But Jung Lu was now _facile princeps_ in the Old Buddha’s counsels, and
at audience his colleagues of the Grand Council (Lu Ch’uan-lin and Wang
Wen-shao) followed his lead implicitly. He never ceased to advise the
Empress to return forthwith to Peking, and, when at a later date she
decided on this step, it was rather because of her faith in his sound
judgment than because of the many Memorials sent in from other high
officials. During the Court’s stay at T’ai-yüan fu, argument on this
subject was continual, but towards the end of September rumours reached
Her Majesty that the Allies were sending a swift punitive expedition to
avenge the murdered missionaries; this decided her to leave at once for
Hsi-an fu, where she would feel safe from further pursuit. The Court left
accordingly on the 30th September; but as the preservation of “face”
before the world is a fundamental principle, with Empresses as with
slave-girls, in China, her departure was announced in the following brief
Edict:—
“As Shansi province is suffering from famine, which makes it
very difficult to provide for our needs, and as the absence
of telegraphic communication there causes all manner of
inconvenient delays, we are compelled to continue our progress
westwards to Hsi-an.”