by scholars throughout the Empire as a literary feat of the first order,
but most of the provincial officials (justified by all tradition and
experience) regarded it as merely a classical “obiter dictum,” and
proceeded, therefore, in their old way, certain in their minds that the
Old Buddha was only amusing herself, as was her wont, by throwing dust in
the eyes of the barbarian, and that she would not be displeased if her
lieutenants were to proceed slowly in carrying them into effect. Unto
the end, even in the face of the earnest exhortations of her valedictory
Decree, there were many provincial officials who, for reasons of personal
prejudice and self-interest, professed to believe that the Old Buddha had
been merely playing a part, but we can find nothing in her official or
private record during these six years to justify that belief. Just before
her return to Peking she issued an Edict in which her own convictions
were very clearly indicated:—
“Ever since my sudden departure from the capital a year ago,”
she declared, “I have not ceased for a moment to brood over the
causes of our national misfortunes and to feel deep remorse.
Now, thanks to the protection of our tutelary deities, I am
about to return to the capital. Whenever I think of the reasons
for our undoing and the causes of our collective weakness I
sincerely deplore the fact that I have not long ago introduced
the necessary reforms, but I am now fully determined to put
in force all possible measures for the reform of the State.
Abandoning our former prejudices, we must proceed to adopt the
best European methods of government. I am firmly determined to
work henceforward on practical lines, so as to deliver the
Empire from its present rotten state. Some of the necessary
measures will naturally require longer periods of preparation
than others, but after my return to Peking they must one and
all gradually be introduced.
“In view of the urgent importance of this matter, Jung Lu and
his colleagues have urged me to make a clear statement of my
intentions and to declare without possibility of hesitation
or doubt the irrevocable decision of the Throne, so that
every official in the land may be stimulated to sincere and
unremitting co-operation. For this reason I issue the present
Decree solemnly recording my opinion that the condition of the
Empire permits of no further evasion or delay in the matter
of reform. Therein lies our only hope for the future. Myself
and the Emperor, in the interests of all that we hold dear,
have no alternative but to face, and steadily to pursue, this
new policy; we must make up our minds what are the things to
strive for, and employ the right men to help us to attain them.
We are, as mother and son, of one mind, endeavouring only to
restore our fallen fortunes. You, our people, can best serve by
united efforts to this end.”
Tzŭ Hsi had not only realised the immense superiority of the material
forces of the western world, but she had also been convinced of the
immense intellectual and political forces which education and increased
means of communication were steadily creating amongst her own subjects,
forces with which, as she perceived, the effete and ignorant Manchus
would have to reckon sooner or later. It is quite plain from her Edicts
on this delicate subject that she realised clearly the dangers which
threatened the Manchu rule. She saw that their class privileges, the
right to tribute, and all the other benefits of sovereignty which the
founders of the Dynasty had won by force of arms and opportunity, had now
become an anachronism, and must in the near future involve the Manchus
themselves in serious dangers and difficulties, unless, by fusion, means
could be found to avert them. Among the rules laid down by the founders
of the Dynasty for the maintenance of the pure Manchu stock, was that
which forbade intermarriage with Chinese. This law, though frequently
violated in the garrisons of the south, had remained generally effective
within the Metropolitan province, where it had served its purpose of
maintaining the ruling class and its caste. But the Empress had now come
to understand that if China was to be preserved as a sovereign State,
it must be rather by means of Chinese energy and intelligence grafted
on to the Manchu stock, than by the latter’s separate initiative. In
January 1902, immediately after her return to Peking, she gave effect
to her convictions on this subject in a remarkable Decree whereby she
recommended that, for the future, Manchus and Chinese should intermarry.
“At the time of the founding of our Dynasty,” she says, “the customs
and languages of the two races were greatly different, and this was
in itself reason sufficient for prohibiting intermarriage. But at the
present day, little or no difference exists between them, and the time
has come, therefore, to relax this law for the benefit of the Empire as
a whole, and in accordance with the wishes of our people.” In the same
Edict Her Majesty deprecated the Chinese custom, which the Manchus had
never adopted, of foot-binding, and urged that the educated classes
should unite to oppose a custom so injurious to health and inhuman in
practice. There was, however, to be no compulsion in this matter. In one
respect only did she desire to adhere to the exclusive Manchu traditions,
namely, as regards the selection of secondary wives for the Imperial
harem, who must continue to be chosen exclusively from Manchu families;
she did not desire “to incur any risk of confusion or dissension in the
Palace, nor to fall into the error committed by the Ming Dynasty, in the
indiscriminate selection of concubines, a matter affecting the direct and
legitimate succession to the Throne.” Nor would she expose her kinsmen
to the risk of conspiracy against the Dynasty which would certainly
occur if the daughters of the great Chinese houses were admitted to the
Palace. The law had been laid down once and for all by Nurhachu, and it
was binding on every occupant of the Dragon Throne, namely, “no Manchu
eunuchs, no Chinese concubines.”
Her next step, in a decree which frankly deplored the hopeless ignorance
of her kinsmen, was to authorise the Imperial clansmen and nobles to send
their sons to be educated abroad, so that perchance the lump of their
inefficiency might yet be leavened. Eligible youths, between the ages of
fifteen and twenty-five, and of good physique, were to be selected and
their expenses would be defrayed by the Government.
This much for the Manchus; but in regard to the whole question of
education, which she declared to be the very root of all China’s
difficulties, she perceived, after prolonged consultations with Yüan
Shih-k’ai and Chang Chih-tung, that so long as the classical system
continued, with its strong hold of tradition upon the masses, it must
constitute the chief obstacle to any effective reform of the body
politic. After much careful deliberation she decided that unless the
whole system of classical examinations were abolished, root and branch,
no tinkering with western learning could be of any practical use. The
ancient system of arguing in a circle, which for over two centuries had
characterised the ideal essay and hypnotised the ideal official, must
undoubtedly triumph over all other educational methods, so long as it
remained part of the official curriculum. Her Majesty took pains to point
out by Edict that colleges had undoubtedly existed in the days of that
model ruler, the Regent Duke Chou, more than two thousand five hundred
years ago, on lines not greatly different from those of the foreign
Universities of the present day; she proved also that the classical
essay system was, so to speak, quite a recent innovation, having been
introduced for the first time under the Ming Dynasty, about A.D. 1390.
Eventually, in 1904, upon the advice of Yüan Shih-k’ai, approved by
Chang Chih-tung, a Decree was issued finally abolishing the old system
of examinations and making graduation at one of the modern colleges the
only recognised path to official employment. At the same time, realising
that the training of students in Japan, which had been proceeding on
a very large scale, had produced a body of revolutionary scholars
most undesirable in the eyes of the Government, she gave orders that
arrangements should be made for sending more students in future to Europe
and America.
This epoch-making announcement was followed by several other important
Decrees, notably that which ordered the complete abolition of the opium
traffic within a period of ten years, a Decree, which, embodying a
sincere and powerful consensus of public opinion, has produced most
unexpected results, marvellously creditable to the moral sense and
recuperative energies of the Chinese race. The contrast is most striking
between the widespread reform effected under this Edict, and the almost
complete failure of those which set forth to reform the Metropolitan
administration; these, thanks to the steady passive resistance of the
mandarin in possession, resulted merely in perpetuating the old abuses
under new names. The one new Ministry created at that time, and saluted
by foreigners as a sign of genuine progress, was that of Posts and
Communications (Yu-Ch’uan pu), which has been a byword for corrupt
practices since its establishment, and a laughing stock among the Chinese
themselves for inefficiency and extravagance.
After dealing with education, the Old Buddha turned her attention to a
question which had frequently figured in recent Memorials of progressive
officials, namely, the abolition of torture and other abuses prevalent
in the so-called judicial system of the Empire. She realised that if
China were ever to obtain the consent of the western Powers to the
abolition of the foreigner’s rights of extra-territoriality, she must
devise and enforce civil and criminal codes similar to those of civilised
countries. Her Edict on this subject, though in form excellent, seems
to lack something of the conviction which marks her other Decrees of
this period; it is very different, for instance, from those dealing with
the abolition of opium and the reform of education. Its principles were
obviously contrary to all her previous ideas and practice, and it is only
fair to say that its result, in spite of much drafting of codes, has
been little or none, as far as the barbarous practices of the provincial
Yamêns are concerned. She decreed that, pending the introduction of the
criminal code, decapitation should be the extreme penalty of the law;
dismemberment and mutilation were to be abolished as barbarous; branding,
flogging, and the vicarious punishment of relatives were to cease. These
savage penalties, she observed, were originally introduced into China
under the Ming Dynasty, and had only been adopted by the Manchus, with
other Chinese customs, against their own more merciful instincts.
Finally, in deference to the unmistakable and growing tendencies of
public opinion in the south, Tzŭ Hsi took the first steps towards
the introduction of constitutional government by sending an Imperial
Commission (under Duke Tsai Tsê) to study the various systems in force
in foreign countries, and their results. The return of this Mission was
followed in the autumn of 1905 by the issue of the famous Decree in which
she definitely announced her intention to grant a constitution, which
should come into effect sooner or later, according to circumstances and
the amount of energy or procrastination displayed by the officials and
people in preparing themselves for the change. As an example of subtle
argument calculated to appeal to the Chinese mind, the document is a
masterpiece in its way. It says:—
“Ever since the foundation of the Dynasty one wise sovereign
after another has handed down sage counsels to posterity;
it has always been their guiding principle that methods
of Government should be modified and adapted to meet the
exigencies of the moment and changing conditions. China’s
great and increasing danger to-day is largely due to her
unwise adherence to antiquated methods; if we do not amend
our educational and political systems, we shall be violating
the spirit which animated our Imperial ancestors, and shall
disappoint the best hopes of our people. Our Imperial
Commissioners have reported to us that the prosperity and
power of foreign nations are largely due to principles of
constitutional government based on the will of the people,
which assures bonds of union and sympathy between the Sovereign
and his subjects. It is therefore our duty to consider by what
means such a Constitution may be granted as shall retain the
sovereign power in the hands of the Throne, and at the same
time give effect to the wishes of the people in matters of
administration. Our State being at present unprepared, and our
people uneducated, any undue haste is inadvisable, and would
lead to no practical results. We must first reform the official
system, following this by the introduction of new laws, new
methods of education, finance and military organisations,
together with a police system, so that officials and people may
come to realise what executive government means as a foundation
and preparation for the granting of a Constitution.”
It was not to be expected that even Tzŭ Hsi could frame so radical and
comprehensive a programme of change without incurring the strongest
opposition and criticism of those to whom the established order meant
loaves and fishes: at Peking, however, owing to the absence of an
outspoken press, the opposition ran beneath the surface, exercised in
the time-honoured form of dogged adherence to the ancient methods by
the officials and bureaucrats on whose goodwill all reform ultimately
depends. Against anyone less masterful and less popular than Tzŭ Hsi
the Clansmen would undoubtedly have concerted other and more forcible
measures, but they knew their Old Buddha and went in wholesome fear
of her wrath. It was only her exceptional position and authority
that enabled her to introduce the machinery for the establishment of
constitutional government, based on the Japanese model, and there is
reason to believe that even at this moment many conservative Manchus do
not regard that measure seriously.
But despite the promise of constitutional government, public opinion in
the south, never restrained in its utterances by the free-lances of the
vernacular press of Hongkong and Shanghai, was outspoken in condemnation
of Her Majesty’s new policy, criticising her policy in general on the
ground of her undignified truckling to Europeans. Lacking alike her
masculine intelligence and courageous recognition of hard facts, making
no allowance for the difficulties with which she was encompassed, and
animated in many instances by a very real hatred of the Manchu rule, they
attacked her in unmeasured terms of abuse; while the foreign press of
the Treaty Ports, naturally suspicious of her motives and mindful of her
share in the anti-foreign rising, was also generally unsympathetic, if
not hostile. In both cases knowledge of the woman’s virility and vitality
was lacking. Her critics failed to realise that, like most mortals, the
Empress was a mixture of good and bad, of wisdom and error, largely
swayed by circumstances and the human equations around her, as well as by
an essentially feminine quality of mutability; but withal, and above all,
a born leader of men and a politician of the very first order.
The following extracts from articles published in the Shanghai press
at that time, throw an instructive light on the spirit of Young China
(like that of the Babu of India) as displayed in its anti-Manchu
proclivities and bigoted chauvinism. One critic, taking for his text the
entertainments given by Her Majesty to the Foreign Legations, wrote:—
“There can be no objection to giving a banquet to anyone who
is likely to be grateful and show some return for hospitality,
but what possible good purpose can be served by feasting
those who treat you with suspicion? We Chinese are wont to
despise our ignorant rustics when they display servility to
foreigners, but what is to be said when one in the exalted
position of the Empress Dowager demeans herself by being on
terms of affectionate intimacy with the wives of Foreign
Ministers, and even with women belonging to the commercial and
lower classes? Nowadays foreign food is served at the Palace
in a dining-room decked out in European style: the guests at
these entertainments thank their Imperial hostess on taking
leave, and the very next day their Legations will furiously
rage against China at our Foreign Office. Therefore, as for
moderating their barbarous ways, her food and her wines are
simply wasted. As a matter of fact, these guests of hers do not
scruple to compare her banquets of to-day with the melons and
vegetables which she sent to the Legations during the siege, a
comparison by no means flattering to Her Majesty. The thing is
becoming a scandal. When Russia poured out entertainments in
honour of Li Hung-chang she got something for her money; can
it be that Her Majesty is looking to similar results in the
present case for herself?”
Another critic, nearer the truth as we know, doubted whether the Empress
Dowager was in reality enamoured of foreign ways, and whether she was
not simulating good relations, while preparing some deep-laid scheme of
future revenge.
“It is scarcely credible,” he observed, “that, at her time of
life, she should be able to change all her habits and form ties
so completely alien to her education and nature. Would not the
foreigners naturally ask themselves whether she was likely to
cherish any real affection for people who had plundered her
palace and had forced her to hand over to the executioners her
most faithful and trusted officials?”
This writer had difficulty, however, in believing that she contemplated
another Boxer movement and frankly confessed himself perplexed.
“As Her Majesty’s chief occupation at the present time would
appear to be to accumulate money at all costs rather than to
reorganise and strengthen the resources of the Empire, her
ultimate object may well be to secure that whatever happens,
her old age shall be comfortably provided for.”
Nevertheless, unheeding of criticism and strong in the wisdom of her own
convictions, Tzŭ Hsi continued steadily on the lines which she had laid
down as necessary for the future safety of the Empire. It was not to be
expected that even her strong personality could overcome in a day the
entrenched forces of native prejudice and conservatism within and without
the palace. At the time of her death many of the chief strongholds of
the ancient system (_e.g._, the power of the eunuchs and the organised
corruption of officials) remained practically uncriticised and untouched;
but at her passing she had marked out a rough course by which, if
faithfully followed, the ship of State might yet be safely steered
through the rocks and shallows of the dangerous seas ahead.
XXV
THE VALEDICTORY MEMORIAL OF JUNG LU
The death of Jung Lu was a great grief to the Empress Dowager. In
the course of her long life there was hardly any crisis or important
event of her reign wherein she had not been greatly assisted by this
devoted follower. Upon hearing of his death she issued a Decree from
the Travelling Palace at Pao-ting-fu, praising the patriotism and
clear-sighted intelligence of the deceased, who, since the beginning
of his career as an honorary licentiate had risen to be Controller of
the Imperial Household, Tartar General and Viceroy, in all of which
capacities he had rendered signal service. At the time of his death he
had attained to the highest honours open to a subject in China, namely,
the position of Grand Secretary and Grand Councillor. In this Decree
Her Majesty laid particular stress on his endeavours to promote a good
understanding with the foreign Powers in 1900. Further, in token of her
affectionate regard, she bestowed upon him a coverlet with charms worked
thereon from the Dharani Sutra in Sanscrit and Thibetan, to be used as
a pall for his burial, and she commanded Prince Kung to proceed to the
residence of the deceased, with ten officers of the Imperial Guard, to
perform a sacrifice on her behalf to the soul of the departed statesman.
She granted him the posthumous designation of “learned and loyal,”
together with the highest hereditary rank open to one who had not been
a victorious military commander or a member of the Imperial Clan. His
ancestral tablet was given a place at the Shrine of Good and Virtuous
Officials, and three thousand taels (£350) were issued from the privy
purse towards his funeral expenses.
Jung Lu’s valedictory Memorial has never been published in China, but
those in attendance on Her Majesty reported that it affected her very
deeply. On the day after it reached her, she issued the following Decree:—
“The deceased Grand Secretary, Jung Lu, was our senior Grand
Councillor at a time of critical danger to the State, and his
sage counsel and eminent services to the Throne have never been
sufficiently appreciated either in China or abroad. He was
absolutely indispensable to us, and we depended entirely upon
his advice. Two months ago, owing to his ill-health, we were
compelled to grant him leave of absence, but, unfortunately,
all remedies have proved unavailing, and he has passed away.
We have perused his valedictory Memorial, full of a deep and
touching earnestness in regard to the future of our Empire
and the condition of the Chinese people; and in recalling all
the incidents of his distinguished career the violence of our
grief can only find expression in tears. Following upon the
posthumous honours already conferred upon him, we hereby decree
that a second Imperial sacrifice shall be offered to his spirit
on the day before his remains are removed for burial, and,
furthermore, that the record of his life be transmitted to the
Historiographers’ Department for inclusion in the annals of our
Dynasty. All faults that may have been recorded against him
shall be expunged, so that the depth of our sincere affection
for this faithful servant may be made manifest.”
Jung Lu was sixty-seven years of age at the date of his death (April
11th, 1903), and it is probable that had it not been for the severe
hardships and mental strain which he endured during the Boxer crisis, he
would have lived much longer to serve his Imperial mistress. By his death
Prince Ch’ing and his corrupt following rose to increased power (Prince
Ch’ing being the only available Manchu of rank sufficient to succeed
Jung Lu as head of the Grand Council), and they have retained it, in the
subterranean labyrinths of Palace intrigues, ever since.
Jung Lu was essentially a middle-course man, striving earnestly for that
“happy mean” which the Empress Dowager professed to desire. Had he lived,
it is safe to say that he would not have approved of the haste with which
she proceeded to sanction the undigested programme for constitutional
government, and with his advice against it the Old Buddha would probably
not have persisted in the idea. He had repeatedly urged her, before
the return of the Court, to make it quite clear in her Edicts that a
reform policy was necessary for the preservation of the Empire, but,
like the late Prince Ito, he was all for a slow and cautious procedure,
and present-day observers of events connected with the constitutional
government programme can hardly doubt the wisdom of his advice.
The following is a translation of his, hitherto unpublished, valedictory
Memorial, a document which throws valuable light on the _coup d’état_
and the relations between Tzŭ Hsi and the Emperor at that time. In other
respects it confirms many conclusions wherein Jung Lu’s authoritative
testimony was lacking to complete an otherwise satisfactory chain of
evidence.
“I, your slave, Jung Lu, a Grand Councillor and Grand Secretary
of the Wen Hua Throne Hall, having grievously failed to
requite the favours of your Majesties, now that my breath
is almost spent, respectfully upon my knees do present this
my valedictory Memorial, and beg that your Majesties may be
pleased to cast your divine glance upon it.