either our Statesmen or our people are guilty of any offence,
it is upon our Imperial persons that the blame must fall?
In recalling this fact to mind, we do not desire to rake up
bygone offences, but rather because it is our duty to warn our
subjects against their repetition. For the past twenty years,
whenever difficulties have arisen with foreign nations, it has
been our duty to issue solemn warnings and reproofs. But the
saying which is in common use, that we ‘sleep on brushwood and
taste gall’ has, by lapse of time, become almost meaningless;
when we talk of putting our house in order, and reforming
our finances, the words have no real significance. The time
of danger once over, favouritism and the neglect of public
business go on as of old; as of old, money purchases rank,
and the Throne continues to be persistently misled. Let our
officials ask themselves in the silence of the night watches
whether, even had there been no Boxer rebellion, China could
possibly have become a great Power? Even before these disasters
occurred there was great difficulty in maintaining our position
as a nation, and now, after this awful visitation, it must
be obvious to the dullest amongst us that our weakness and
poverty have been greatly increased. To our Ministers of State,
who have received high favour from the Throne, we would say
that, at this time of our nation’s history, it is essential to
display new qualities of integrity and patriotism. Taxation
should now be re-arranged in such a manner as to enable us
to repay the foreign indemnities, while bearing in mind the
poverty of the lower classes of the people. In the selection
of officials, good character should be considered the first
essential, and men of talent should be encouraged to the utmost.
“The whole duty of a Minister of State may be summed up in two
words: to abolish corrupt tendencies, and to put off the abuses
of former days. Justice and energy should be the principles
guiding towards economical and military efficiency; on this the
spirit of the nation and its future depend as upon its very
life blood.
“For nearly thirty years our mother, the Empress Dowager, has
laboured without ceasing to instruct us and train us in the
right way, and now, at one blow, all the results of her labour
are brought to nought. We cannot but remember the abomination
of desecration which has overthrown our ancestral shrines and
the temples of our gods. Looking to the North, we think upon
our Capital ruined and profaned, upon the thousands of our
highest officials whose families have lost their all, of the
millions of our subjects whose lives and property have been
sacrificed in this cataclysm. We can never cease to reproach
ourselves: how then should we reproach others? Our object in
issuing this solemn warning is to show that the prosperity or
the ruin of a State depends solely upon the energy or apathy
of its rulers and people, and that the weakness of an Empire
is the direct result of rottenness in its administration. We
desire to reiterate our commands that friendly relations with
foreign Powers are to be encouraged, that at the same time our
defences are to be strengthened, that freedom of speech and
the employment of trustworthy servants are to be encouraged. We
expect obedience to these commands, and sincere patriotism from
our subjects. Earnestly the Empress Dowager and ourselves pray
that it may be brought home to our Ministers of State, that
only out of suffering is wisdom developed, and that a sense of
duty insists upon unceasing effort. Let this Decree be made
known throughout the entire Empire.”
This Edict was issued in February, coincidently with Her Majesty’s
acceptance of the conditions imposed by the Powers in the peace
negotiations at Peking. From that date until, in June, the terms of the
Protocol were definitely settled by the plenipotentiaries, her attitude
continued to be one of nervous apprehension, while the discomfort of life
at Hsi-an, as well as the advice repeatedly given her by Jung Lu and the
provincial Viceroys, combined to make her look forward with impatience to
the day when she might set out for her capital.
There remained only one source of difficulty, namely, the presence
of Prince Tuan’s son, the Heir Apparent, at her Court. Tzŭ Hsi was
well aware that she could hardly look for cordial relations with the
representatives of the Powers at Peking, or for sympathy abroad, so
long as this son of the Boxer chief remained heir to the Throne. It
would clearly be impossible, in the event of his becoming Emperor, for
him to consent to his father remaining under sentence of banishment,
and equally impossible to expect the Powers to consent to Prince Tuan’s
rehabilitation and return. Yet the youth had been duly and solemnly
appointed to succeed to the Throne, a thing not lightly to be set aside.
Once again the Old Buddha showed that the sacred laws of succession were
less than a strong woman’s will.
Politics apart, it was common knowledge that Tzŭ Hsi had for some time
repented of her choice of Prince Tuan’s ill-mannered, uncouth son as
Heir Apparent. More than once had she been brought to shame by his wild,
and sometimes disgraceful, conduct. Even in her presence, the lad paid
little heed to the formalities of Court etiquette, and none at all to
the dignity of his own rank and future position. Tzŭ Hsi was therefore
probably not sorry of the excuse for deposing him from that high estate.
In the Decree cancelling his title to the Throne, she observed that his
father, Prince Tuan, had brought the Empire to the verge of ruin, and
that the guilt which he had thus incurred towards his august ancestors
could never be wiped out. In order to save the “face” of the Heir
Apparent and her own, in a difficult position, the Edict describes him
as being fully convinced of the impossibility of his succeeding to the
Throne under existing conditions, and that he himself had therefore
petitioned Her Majesty to cancel her previous decision. In granting this
request and directing him to remove himself forthwith from the Palace
precincts, the Empress conferred upon him the rank of an Imperial Duke
of the lowest grade, excusing him at the same time from performance of
any official duties in that capacity. By this decision she meant to mark
the contempt into which the Heir Apparent had fallen, for the rank thus
granted him was a low one, and, without any official duties or salary,
he was condemned to a life of poverty and obscurity. This fallen Heir to
the Dragon Throne is a well-known figure to-day in the lowest haunts of
the Chinese City at Peking: a drunkard and disreputable character, living
the life of a gambler, notorious only as a swashbuckler of romantic past
and picturesque type,—one who, but for adverse fate and the accursed
foreigner, would have been Emperor of China at this moment.
Having deposed him, the Empress let it be known that the selection of an
heir to the disconsolate shade of T’ung-Chih would be postponed “until a
suitable candidate should be found,” an intimation generally understood
to mean that the vital question of providing an heir in legitimate and
proper succession to the Throne could not well be determined until
China’s foreign relations, as well as her internal affairs, had been
placed upon a basis of greater security. It is curious to note how, in
all such utterances, it appears to have been tacitly understood that the
Emperor Kuang Hsü was a “bad life.”
Thus, in exile, the Old Buddha wore philosophically the white sheet of
penance and burned the candle of expiation, preparatory to re-entering
anon upon a new lease of power in that Peking where, as she well knew,
the memory of the foreigner is short and his patience long. In June,
1901, the terms of peace were settled; on the 7th September the Peace
Protocol was solemnly signed by the representatives of all the Powers,
that “monument of collective inefficiency” which was to sow the seeds
of trouble to last for many years to come. At Hsi-an “in the profound
seclusion of the Palace” she knew remorse, not unstimulated by fear;
on the return journey to her capital (from 20th October, 1901, to 6th
January, 1902), while preparing her arts and graces to captivate the
barbarian, she was still a victim to doubt and apprehension. Meanwhile,
at Peking, the mandarin world, reassured by the attitude of the peace
negotiators and their terms, was fast shedding its garments of fear and
peacocking as of yore, in renewed assurance of its own indisputable
superiority. Evidence of this spirit was to be met with on all sides,
gradually coming to its fine flower in the subsequent negotiations for
the revision of the commercial Treaties, and bringing home once more,
to those who study these things, the unalterable truth of the discovery
made years ago by one of the earliest British representatives in China,
namely, that “this people yields nothing to reason and everything to
fear.”
One of the most remarkable instances of this revival of the mandarin’s
traditional arrogance of superiority occurred, significantly enough,
in connection with the penitential mission of the Emperor’s brother,
Prince Ch’un (now Regent) to Berlin, an episode which threatened for
a moment to lead to a rupture between Germany and China. By Article 1
of the Peace Protocol, Prince Ch’un had been specially designated for
this mission to convey in person to the German Emperor the regrets of
the Chinese Government for the murder of Baron von Ketteler. He left
Peking for the purpose on the 12th July, 1901, with definite instructions
as to the manner in which the Chinese Government’s regrets were to be
expressed. The German Emperor’s proposals as to the form of ceremony to
be followed in this matter were regarded by Prince Ch’un as incompatible
with his instructions, and it will be remembered that, after some
hesitation on the part of the German Government, the Chinese policy of
passive resistance eventually carried the day. The following telegraphic
correspondence on the subject is of permanent interest. Prince Ch’un
(whose personal name is Tsai Feng) telegraphed from Germany on the
26th September to the Peace Plenipotentiaries, Prince Ch’ing and Li
Hung-chang, as follows:—
“I have duly received the Grand Council’s message, and note
that I am commanded to act as circumstances may require,
and that a middle course is suggested as expedient. I fully
appreciate the intelligent caution of your policy, and
fortunately had already taken steps to act in the sense
indicated. On the 14th of this moon the German Emperor had
given orders to stop preparations for the ceremony, but as I
noticed that the Royal train had not been withdrawn nor had
his aide-de-camp left my suite, I inferred that there was a
possibility of his yielding the points in dispute. Accordingly,
after a long discussion of the situation with Yin Ch’ang, I
directed him to write in German to Jeng-yintai[119] requesting
his friendly intervention at the Foreign Office with a definite
explanation that China could not possibly agree that the
mission should be received kneeling, that Germany had nothing
to gain on insisting upon such a procedure, and that the only
result of a fiasco would be to make both countries appear
extremely ridiculous. I therefore begged that the Emperor
should accede to my personal appeal and waive the point. At
the same time I requested the German gentleman who acts as
Chinese Consul for Bavaria to address the Foreign Office to
the same effect, and with a request that we might enter upon
discussion of the point. Four days later I directed Lü Hai-huan
to return to his post at Berlin to make such arrangements as
might be possible, and on the following day I telegraphed to
him a summary of the Grand Council’s views on the matter. In
the afternoon of the 20th I received the Consul for Bavaria,
who informed me that he had received a telegram from the
Foreign Office inquiring when I proposed to start for Berlin,
and hoping that I would do so speedily, as the Emperor had now
consented to waive the question of our kneeling, but required
that only Yin Ch’ang should accompany me when presenting the
letter of regret, the remainder of my suite to remain in
another place.
“The same evening I received a message from Lü Hai-huan,
stating that the Emperor would undoubtedly receive me, and
that, since all other difficult questions had been settled, His
Majesty wished to leave for the country in a few days. Under
these circumstances I did not consider it advisable to insist
too strictly on minor details of etiquette, being pressed
for time, and I therefore requested the German Emperor’s
Chamberlain to have a special train prepared for my journey.
We reached Potsdam at 3 P.M. on the 21st[120]; I was met by a
General sent by the Emperor with his state carriage. Myself
and my suite were lodged in the Palace, where every attention
was shown to us, and it was arranged that I should fulfil my
mission on the following day, after depositing a wreath on the
grave of the late Empress. On the morning of the following day
I visited her tomb, and at noon the state carriage came to
take me to the New Palace, where, after being ushered into the
Emperor’s presence, I read aloud Their Majesties’ complimentary
letter. The members of my suite were awaiting in an adjoining
apartment. After the ceremony I was escorted back to my
residence, and at 2 P.M. the Emperor came to call upon me. He
was very cordial and remained talking with me for a long time.
By his orders a steam launch was provided for me, in which I
visited the Lake and Peacock Island; on the following day I
saw a review of the troops, and was presented to the Empress.
The Emperor begged me to remain longer in Berlin, suggesting
that I should visit the arsenals and inspect the fleet under
Prince Henry at Stettin. I could scarcely decline these polite
attentions, and after visiting the Empress I took lodging in
an hotel at Berlin. Thanks to the glorious prestige of our
Empire, matters have thus been satisfactorily settled, and
the knowledge that my mission has been satisfactorily carried
out will, I hope, bring comfort to Their Imperial Majesties
in their anxiety. I beg that you will memorialise the Throne
accordingly. Tsai Feng.”
The Empress Dowager was pleased to express her approval of the result of
this mission, which in the eyes of the Chinese Government was undoubtedly
one of those diplomatic triumphs which China appears to attain most
easily when her material resources have completely failed. Reading the
above despatch, it is difficult to realise that the Prince’s mission had
for its object the expiation of a brutal murder committed, with the full
approval of the Chinese Government and Court, on the representative of a
friendly nation. The opinion is commonly believed, held by the Legations
at Peking, that the present Regent has learned much since he returned
from that penitential mission to the German capital. During the present
year his brothers have been engaged on missions ostensibly intended to
acquire knowledge for the sorely-needed reorganisation of China’s army
and navy, missions which have been received with royal honours by almost
every civilised Power; but there are many close observers of the changing
conditions at Peking who see in these missions merely a repetition
of farces that have often been played before, and an attempt to gain
prestige in the eyes of the Chinese people for the Regent’s family and
the Court, rather than any definite intention or desire to reform the
official system.
[Illustration: HIS HIGHNESS PRINCE TSAI HSÜN.
Brother of the late Emperor and Present Regent—recently head of the Naval
Mission to Europe and America.]
XXIII
THE RETURN OF THE COURT TO PEKING
The state of mind of the Empress Dowager during the flight from the
Capital, and subsequently while the Court remained in exile at Hsi-an,
was marked by that same quality of indecision and vacillating impulse
which had characterised her actions throughout the Boxer crisis and the
siege of Peking. This may be ascribed partly to her advancing age and
partly to the conflicting influences of astrologers and fortune-tellers,
to whose advice she attached the greatest importance in all times of
peril. We have dealt in another place with her marked susceptibility to
omens and superstitious beliefs; its effect is most noticeable, however,
at this stage of her life, and was conspicuous in matters of small detail
throughout the return journey to Peking.
The influence of Jung Lu at Hsi-an, and that of Li Hung-chang at Peking,
had been systematically exercised to induce Her Majesty to return to the
Capital; but until the Peace Protocol conditions had been definitely
arranged, and until she had been persuaded to decree adequate punishment
upon the Boxer leaders, the predominant feeling in her mind was evidently
one of suspicion and fear, as was shown when she ordered the hurried
flight from T’ai-yüan fu to Hsi-an. The influence of Li Hung-chang,
who, from the outset, had realised the folly committed by the Chinese
Government in approving the attack upon the Legations, was exercised to
create in the mind of Her Majesty a clearer sense of the folly of that
policy. At the height of the crisis (21st July, 1900), realising that the
foreign forces brought to bear upon China were steadily defeating both
Boxers and Imperial troops, she appointed Li Hung-chang to be Viceroy of
Chihli, and directed that he should proceed from Canton with all haste,
there being urgent need of the services of a diplomat versed in foreign
affairs. Her Majesty went so far as to suggest that he should proceed
from Shanghai to Tientsin in a Russian vessel which “he might borrow for
the purpose.” Li Hung-chang’s reply, telegraphed to Yüan Shih-k’ai for
transmission to the Throne, while outwardly respectful, clearly implies
that Her Majesty has been to blame for the disasters then occurring.
“I am sincerely grateful,” he says, “for Your Majesty’s gratifying
confidence in me, but cannot help recalling to mind the folly which has
now suddenly destroyed that structure of reformed administration which,
during my twenty years’ term of office as Viceroy of Chihli, I was able
to build up not unsuccessfully. I fear it will not be possible for me to
resume the duties of this difficult post at a time of crisis like the
present, destitute as I am of all proper and material resources.” He
proceeds even to criticise Her Majesty’s suggestion as to his journey,
observing that “Russia possesses no vessel at Shanghai, and would
certainly refuse to lend if she had one, in view of the state of war
now existing.” Finally, he excuses himself for deferring his departure,
on the ground that the British Minister had requested him not to leave
until the foreign Ministers had been safely escorted from Peking to
Tientsin. “I do not know,” says he, “if any such arrangements for safely
escorting them can be made,” and therefore concludes by asking Yüan to
inform the Throne that he will start northwards, journeying by land, “as
soon as his health permits it.” To this plain-spoken message from the
great Viceroy, Tzŭ Hsi replied in two lines of equally characteristic
directness:—“Li Hung-chang is to obey our earlier Decree, and to make all
haste northwards. The crisis is serious. Let him make no further excuses
for delay.”
In spite of these peremptory orders, Li Hung-chang, who had a very
definite conception of his own predicament, remained at Shanghai,
ostensibly negotiating, but in reality waiting, to see what would be
the outcome of the siege of the Legations. He was interviewed by _The
Times_ correspondent at Shanghai on the 23rd of July, and then stated
that he would not proceed to his post in the north until convinced by
clear proofs that the Empress Dowager had seen the folly of her ways,
and was prepared to adopt a conciliatory policy towards the outraged
foreign Powers. At the end of July, when it became clear to him that
the Court had determined on flight, he forwarded by special courier a
very remarkable Memorial, in which he called the Throne to task in the
plainest possible terms, and urged an immediate change of policy. This
Memorial reached the Empress before her departure from Peking; certain
extracts from it are well worth reproduction, as showing Li Hung-chang at
his best, and displaying that quality of courageous intelligence which
made him for twenty years the foremost official in China and a world-wide
celebrity:—
“It is to be remembered that between this, our Empire of
China, and the outer barbarians, hostilities have frequently
occurred since the remotest antiquity, and our national history
teaches that the best way to meet them is to determine upon
our policy only after carefully ascertaining their strength
as compared with our own. Since the middle of the reign of
Tao-Kuang the pressure of the barbarians on our borders has
steadily increased, and to-day we are brought to desperate
straits indeed. In 1860 they invaded the Capital and burnt the
Summer Palace; His Majesty Hsien-Feng was forced to flee, and
thus came to his death. It is only natural that His Majesty’s
posterity should long to avenge him to the end of time, and
that your subjects should continue to cherish undying hopes of
revenge. But since that time, France has taken from us Annam,
the whole of that dependency being irretrievably lost; Japan
has fought us, and ousted us from Korea. Even worse disasters
and loss of territory were, however, to follow: Germany
seized Kiaochao; Russia followed by annexing Port Arthur and
Talienwan; England demanded Wei-hei-wei and Kowloon, together
with the extension of the Shanghai Settlements, and the opening
of new treaty ports inland; and France made further demands
for Kuang-Chou wan. How could we possibly maintain silence
under such grievous and repeated acts of aggression? Craven
would be the man who would not seek to improve our defences,
and shameless would be he who did not long for the day of
reckoning. I myself have enjoyed no small favours from the
Throne, and much is expected of me by the nation. Needless for
me to say how greatly I would rejoice were it possible for
China to enter upon a glorious and triumphant war; it would
be the joy of my closing days to see the barbarian nations
subjugated at last in submissive allegiance, respectfully
making obeisance to the Dragon Throne. Unfortunately, however,
I cannot but recognise the melancholy fact that China is
unequal to any such enterprise, and that our forces are in
no way competent to undertake it. Looking at the question as
one affecting chiefly the integrity of our Empire, who would
be so foolish as to cast missiles at a rat in the vicinity
of a priceless piece of porcelain? It requires no augur’s
skill in divination to foresee that eggs are more easily to
be cracked than stones. Let us consider one recent incident
in proof of this conclusion. Recently, in the attack by some
tens of thousands of Boxers and Imperial troops upon the
foreign Settlements at Tientsin, there were some two or three
thousand foreign soldiers to defend them; yet, after ten days
of desperate fighting, only a few hundred foreigners had been
slain, while no less than twenty thousand Chinese were killed
and as many more wounded. Again, there are no real defences
or fortified positions in the Legations at Peking, nor are
the foreign Ministers and their Legation staffs trained in
the use of arms; nevertheless, Tung Fu-hsiang’s hordes have
been bombarding them for more than a month, and have lost many
thousands of men in the vain attempt to capture the position.