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TUEN, SLAVE AND EMPRESS
by
KATHLEEN GRAY NELSON
Illustrations by William M. Cary
[Illustration: TUEN AT WORK ON THE TUNIC.--_Page 65_]
New York
Copyright by
E. P. Dutton & Company
31 West Twenty-Third Street
1898
[Illustration: _Frontispiece._ THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT. Page 190.]
PREFACE.
This story is founded upon facts in the life of the Empress-dowager of
China, the mother of the present Emperor.
She was sold as a slave by her father to a renowned government
official, who after a few years adopted her as his daughter, and
afterwards presented her to the Emperor.
The Emperor was altogether charmed with the gift. In a few years the
slave girl became the wife of the Emperor, second in rank only to the
Empress. From this time she was a power at the Imperial Court. Her
administrative ability in governmental affairs became invaluable to the
Emperor.
After the death of the Empress, and the death of the Emperor and eldest
son, she became Empress-dowager of China, and reigned as regent during
the minority of her son, who is the present Emperor of China, now about
twenty-four years of age.
Bishop Galloway tells us this wonderful woman's sixtieth birthday,
celebrated last year, "was to have been the greatest event in Chinese
history for a century or more." The war, however, prevented this
display. He says, too: "It is significant that in this country, in which
women are at a discount, are secluded and kept in ignorance, are
protested against at birth, and regarded as a calamity in youth, the
ruling spirit in all national affairs is a woman."
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
NIU TSANG AND FAMILY 2
THE VICEROY AND NIU TSANG 24
TUEN AND WANG 43
TUEN AT WORK ON THE TUNIC (_on title-page_) 65
"I WOULD LIKE TO LEARN TO READ" 78
THE SAIL UP THE RIVER 159
THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT (_frontispiece_) 190
TUEN, SLAVE AND EMPRESS.
CHAPTER I.
The sun had set in the land where the dragon reigns, and darkness and
silence and rest and sleep, the ministers of the night, waited to come
to their own. But their presence was not needed in the eastern portion
of the province of Hunan, for a wonderful stillness hung over all the
barren landscape, and there was no sign of life. On the banks of the
streams the patient buffalo no longer went his ceaseless rounds, working
the pumps that sent water over the thirsty earth; the shrill cries of
the boatmen that were wont to echo on the river were hushed; not even a
bird crossed the quiet sky; and where the waving rice-fields had once
stretched out proud and green under the summer sun, was now but a lonely
waste that gave no hope of harvest, for man and beast had either
perished or fled. The great Tai-ping rebellion had stirred this peaceful
country to its very centre, and war and war's grim follower, famine, had
swept through this once fertile province, and naught was left to tell of
what had been, save a few scattered ruins.
[Illustration: NIU TSANG AND FAMILY. Page 2.]
Suddenly, against the purplish shadows of the distant mountains, a
little group could be seen moving slowly along, the only living things
in all this vast solitude. On they came over the parched levels, but the
man who was leading the way walked with bowed head, as one that saw not,
but only went forward because he must. He was small in stature, and thin
and lithe, while his complexion showed through its dark, the pallor of
the student. His face was of the Oriental type peculiar to the Chinese
Empire, and his carefully braided cue also indicated his nationality. He
had dark, sloping eyes that you might have thought sleepy if you had not
seen them light up as he talked, his forehead was low and broad, his
mouth large, and most amiable in its expression, and when the long
sleeves of his tunic fell back, they disclosed soft, delicate hands,
unused to toil. His costume consisted of an outer tunic of worn and
faded silk, girded at the waist with a sash, from which hung a bag
containing flint and steel for lighting his pipe, a soiled pouch that
had once held tobacco, but was now empty, another bag for his pipe, and
a satin case shaped like the sheath for a short sword, from which
protruded nothing more formidable, however, than the handle of a fan.
His loose pantaloons, dust-stained and frayed, were met below the knees
by cloth stockings, once white, but now dyed with mud, and his shoes of
embroidered felt, the toes of which curled up in a curious fashion,
showed many gaping holes. Upon his head he wore a cone-shaped hat of
bamboo, the peak at the top adorned with a blue button from which fell a
blue silk fringe, and his tunic being cut low at the neck and buttoned
diagonally across his breast, left exposed his slender bronzed neck.
He was followed by a woman whose dress was similar to his own, and also
much the worse for wear, who led by the hand a little boy about four
years old, while on her other side was a daughter, now almost as tall as
her mother.
But as the father walked slowly, even majestically, at the head of his
little family, bearing on a pole thrown across his shoulders, all his
worldly goods, there was an independence in his carriage, a pride in his
mien, that told of better days not yet forgotten, and made the evident
poverty of his appearance seem of but little moment.
A learned man once advanced the theory that in the olden days the
children of Abraham and Keturah, driven forth by unkind kinsmen,
wandered on until they reached the flowery Kingdom, and there the family
of the old patriarch multiplied as the stars of heaven, as the sand upon
the sea-shore, and became a mighty nation. But the centuries came and
went in silence, and man kept no record of their flight; and of the
early settlers of this, one of the first countries inhabited by human
beings, history can tell us nothing. The sons of Han have lived their
lives calmly, borrowing nothing from other nations, asking nothing of
the outside world, caring naught for what lay beyond their vast borders,
and change has been an unknown word in their shut-in kingdom. Progress,
the daring child of modern times, has not found entrance there, and the
Niu Tsang of to-day, leading his family through the forsaken country,
was but a repetition of his long dead forefathers. That was the reason
why, even now, as he toiled wearily along, his mind left the scenes of
the present, so full of sorrow and suffering, and dwelt in placid
contemplation on the events of the past. He was musing on the wisdom of
the sages, on the maxims of Confucius, when, chancing to raise his head,
he saw in the distance the dim outlines of a building.
"It is the temple of Buddha," he cried, joyfully, turning to his wife.
"There we shall find food and shelter for the night."
She made a gesture of assent, but her pale lips framed no word, and they
pressed hurriedly forward. When they came nearer the temple, he noticed
the traces of many footsteps, as if a great throng had entered there,
but the same mysterious silence reigned everywhere. There was no murmur
of voices raised in chants of praise, no priests waiting at the
entrance, no din of gongs and drums, not even a sound from the
consecrated animals that had once waited within the enclosure in
pampered stupidity for release from their beastly forms. Bewildered,
oppressed by a nameless fear, Niu Tsang ran past the open portal, and
there he stopped, dismayed at the scene before him, for the rebels,
drunk with success, had in their wild zeal turned against the dumb gods
of the land, and wrought havoc in the temple. Gilded and painted
fragments of helpless idols strewed the floor, the great stone altar,
carved in writhing dragons, had been broken into many pieces, and
incense vases of priceless porcelain, candlesticks of richest cloisonné,
tables of carved ebony, stands of polished jade, and rosaries torn from
the hands of frightened priests, had been ruthlessly destroyed, and now
lay in great heaps of rubbish. The guardians of the temple had fled
before the wrath of the rebel reformers, and the dead gods were left
alone in their temple. Niu Tsang made his way sadly through these ruins
of the once beautiful structure, and came at last into the dismantled
court where his wife and children were already awaiting him. She had
taken the boy in her lap and was tenderly stroking his little wan face,
while the girl, her eyes filled with unshed tears, squatted beside her.
A head of Buddha that had been broken off and rudely tossed into the
court, lay near by, watching them with the same queer smile it had once
bestowed upon its worshippers. The father made a gesture of despair.
"All is ruin--all is lost--and desolation is spread over the land," he
said despairingly. "Nothing is left here."
The boy in his mother's lap moved restlessly about and uttered a low
moan.
"Is there no rice, father?" he cried plaintively.
"None, my son," Niu answered with a sigh. "I have searched the temple,
only to find it bare. You must wait."
His wife's mouth trembled pitifully as she listened, and noticing this
he said to her:
"We must endure as best we can. Night now overshadows us, and there is
no human habitation in sight. We must rest here until the dawn and then
hurry on, hoping ere the day is done to find food for all. If our
strength fail we can but die," he added in a lower tone, as if speaking
to himself, but the woman heard it and looked up.
"I am very tired now," she murmured, "and the pangs of hunger torment
me. All that I had to eat to-day I gave to the children."
"I know," Niu said. "I too am hungry, but there is no help for it." So
saying he sat down; but the girl, despite her weariness, built a
pedestal out of the fragments around her, upon which she gently placed
the head of her dishonored Buddha, for she was a most devout little
heathen, and then she crept quietly back into the temple.