throne of China,--Lieou Pang, who represents, in the Chinese annals,
intellect, and Pa Wang, representing brute force, uninspired by thought.
Destiny, if we can credit the following tale, had chosen the former for
the throne. "A noted physiognomist once met him on the high-road, and,
throwing himself down before him, said, 'I see by the expression of your
features that you are destined to be emperor, and I offer you in
anticipation the tribute of respect that a subject owes his sovereign. I
have a daughter, the fairest and wisest in the empire; take her as your
wife. So confident am I that my prediction will be realized that I
gladly offer her to you.'"
However that be, the weak descendants of Hoangti soon vanished from the
scene, Pa Wang was overcome in battle, and the successful general seized
the imperial throne. He chose, as emperor, the title of Kaotsou, and
named his dynasty, from his native province, the Han. It was destined to
continue for centuries in power.
The new emperor showed himself a worthy successor of the builder of the
Great Wall, while he made every effort to restore to the nation its
books, encouraging men of letters and seeking to recover such
literature as had survived the great burning. In this way he provided
for his future fame at the hands of the grateful literati of China.
Amnesty to all who had opposed him was proclaimed, and regret expressed
at the sufferings of the people "from the evils which follow in the
train of war."
The merit of Kaotsou lay largely in the great public works with which he
emulated the policy of his energetic predecessor. The "Lofty and August
Emperor" (_Kao Hoangti_), as he entitled himself, did not propose to be
thrown into the shade by any who had gone before. On taking the throne
he chose as his capital the city of Loyang (now Honan), but subsequently
selected the city of Singanfoo, in the western province of Shensi. This
city lay in a nest of mountains, which made it very difficult of
approach. It was not without advantages from its situation as the
capital of the empire, but could not be reached from the south without
long detours. Possibly this difficulty may have had something to do with
its choice by the emperor, that he might display his genius in
overcoming obstacles.
To construct roads across and to cut avenues through the mountains an
army of workmen, one hundred thousand in number, became necessary. The
deep intervening valleys were filled up to the necessary level by the
spoils rent from the lofty adjoining mountains, and where this could not
be done, great bridges, supported on strong and high pillars, were
thrown across from side to side. Elsewhere suspension bridges--"flying
bridges," as the Chinese call them--were thrown across deep and rugged
ravines, wide enough for four horsemen to travel abreast, their sides
being protected by high balustrades. One of these, one hundred and fifty
yards long, and thrown over a valley more than five hundred feet deep,
is said to be still in perfect condition. These suspension bridges were
built nearly two thousand years before a work of this character was
attempted in Europe. In truth, the period in question, including several
centuries before Christ, was the culminating age of Chinese
civilization, in which appeared its great religious reformers,
philosophers, and authors, its most daring engineers, and its monarchs
of highest public spirit and broadest powers of conception and
execution. It was the age of the Great Wall, the imperial system of
highways, the system of canals (though the Great Canal was of later
date), and other important works of public utility.
By the strenuous labors described Kaotsou rendered his new capital easy
of access from all quarters of the kingdom, while at frequent intervals
along the great high-roads of the empire there were built post-houses,
caravansaries, and other conveniences, so as to make travelling rather a
pleasure than the severe task it formerly had been.
The capital itself was made as attractive as the means of reaching it
were made easy. Siaho, at once an able war minister and a great builder,
planned for the emperor a palace so magnificent that Kaotsou hesitated
in ordering its erection. Siaho removed his doubts with the following
argument: "You should look upon all the empire as your family; and if
the grandeur of your palace does not correspond with that of your
family, what idea will it give of its power and greatness?"
This argument sufficed: the palace was built, and Kaotsou celebrated its
completion with festivities continued for several weeks. On one occasion
during this period, uplifted with a full sense of the dignity to which
he had attained, his pride found vent in the grandiloquent remark,
"To-day I feel that I am indeed emperor, and perceive all the difference
between a subject and his master."
His fondness for splendor was indicated by magnificent banquets and
receptions, and his sense of dignity by a court ceremonial which must
have proved a wearisome ordeal for his courtiers, though none dared
infringe it for fear of dire consequences. Those who had aided him in
his accession to power were abundantly rewarded, with one exception,
that of his father, who seems to have been overlooked in the
distribution of favors. The old man, not relishing thus being left at
the foot of the ladder, took prompt occasion to remind his son of his
claims. Dressing himself in his costliest garments, he presented himself
at the foot of the throne, where, in a speech of deep humility, he
designated himself as the least yet the most obedient subject of the
realm. Kaotsou, thus admonished, at once called a council of ministers
and had the old man proclaimed "the lesser emperor." Taking him by the
hand, he led him to a chair at the foot of the throne as his future
seat. This act of the emperor won him the highest commendation from his
subjects, the Chinese looking upon respect to and veneration of parents
as the duty surpassing all others and the highest evidence of virtue.
Siaho, the palace-builder and war minister, had been specially favored
in this giving of rewards, much to the discontent of the leading
generals, who claimed all the credit for the successes in war, and were
disposed to look with contempt on this mere cabinet warrior. Hearing of
their complaints, Kaotsou summoned them to his presence, and thus
plainly expressed his opinion of their claims:
"You find, I am told, reason to complain that I have rewarded Siaho
above yourselves. Tell me, who are they at the chase who pursue and
capture the prey? The dogs.--But who direct and urge on the dogs? Are
they not the hunters?--You have all worked hard for me; you have pursued
your prey with vigor, and at last captured and overthrown it. In this
you deserve the credit which one gives to the dogs in the chase. But the
merit of Siaho is that of the hunter. It is he who has conducted the
whole of the war, who regulated everything, ordered you to attack the
enemy at the opportune moment, and by his tactics made you master of the
cities and provinces you have conquered. On this account he deserves the
credit of the hunter, who is more worthy of reward than are the dogs
whom he sets loose upon the prey."
One further anecdote is told of this emperor, which is worth repeating,
as its point was aptly illustrated in a subsequent event. Though he had
won the empire by the sword, he was not looked upon as a great general,
and on one occasion asked Hansin, his ablest officer, how many men he
thought he (the emperor) could lead with credit in the field.
"Sire," said the plain-spoken general, "you can lead an army of a
hundred thousand men very well. _But that is all._"
"And how many can you lead?"
"The more I have the better I shall lead them," was the self-confident
answer.
The event in which the justice of this criticism was indicated arose
during a subsequent war with the Tartars, who had resumed their inroads
into the empire. The Heung-nou were at this period governed by two
leading chiefs, Mehe and Tonghou, the latter arrogant and ambitious, the
former well able to bide his time. The story goes that Tonghou sent to
Mehe a demand for a favorite horse. His kinsmen advised him to refuse,
but Mehe sent the horse, saying, "Would you quarrel with your neighbor
for a horse?" Tonghou soon after sent to demand of Mehe one of his
wives. Mehe again complied, saying to his friends, "Would you have me
undertake a war for the sake of a woman?" Tonghou, encouraged by these
results of his insolence, next invaded Mehe's dominions. The patient
chief, now fully prepared, took the field, and in a brief time had
dispersed Tonghou's army, captured and executed him, and made himself
the principal chief of the clans.
This able leader, having punished his insolent desert foe, soon led his
warlike followers into China, took possession of many fertile
districts, extended his authority to the banks of the Hoang-ho, and sent
plundering expeditions into the rich provinces beyond. In the war that
followed the emperor himself took command of his troops, and, too
readily believing the stories of the weakness of the Tartar army told by
his scouts, resolved on an immediate attack. One of his generals warned
him that "in war we should never despise an enemy," but the emperor
refused to listen, and marched confidently on, at the head of his
advance guard, to find the enemy.
He found him to his sorrow. Mehe had skilfully concealed his real
strength for the purpose of drawing the emperor into a trap, and now, by
a well-directed movement, cut off the rash leader from his main army and
forced him to take refuge in the city of Pingching. Here, vastly
outnumbered and short of provisions, the emperor found himself in a
desperate strait, from which he could not escape by force of arms.
In this dilemma one of his officers suggested a possible method of
release. This was that, as a last chance, the most beautiful virgin in
the city should be sent as a peace-offering to the desert chief. Kaotsou
accepted the plan,--nothing else presenting itself,--and the maiden was
chosen and sent. She went willingly, it is said, and used her utmost
arts to captivate the Tartar chief. She succeeded, and Mehe, after
forcing Kaotsou to sign an ignominious treaty, suffered his prize to
escape, and retired to the desert, well satisfied with the rich spoils
he had won. Kaotsou was just enough to reward the general to whose
warning he had refused to listen, but the scouts who had misled him paid
dearly for their false reports.
This event seems to have inspired Kaotsou with an unconquerable fear of
his desert foe, who was soon back again, pillaging the borders with
impunity and making such daring inroads that the capital itself was not
safe from their assaults. Instead of trusting to his army, the emperor
now bought off his enemy in a more discreditable method than before,
concluding a treaty in which he acknowledged Mehe as an independent
ruler and gave him his daughter in marriage.
This weakness led to revolts in the empire, Kaotsou being forced again
to take the field against his foes. But, worn out with anxiety and
misfortune, his end soon approached, his death-bed being disturbed by
palace intrigues concerning the succession, in which one of his favorite
wives sought to have her son selected as the heir. Kaotsou, not heeding
her petition, chose his eldest son as the heir-apparent, and soon after
died. The tragic results of these intrigues for the crown will be seen
in the following tale.
[Illustration: Reproduced by permission of The Philadelphia Museums.
AN ITINERANT COBBLER. CANTON, CHINA.]
_THE EMPRESS POISONER OF CHINA._
About two centuries before Christ a woman came to the head of affairs in
China whose deeds recall the worst of those which have long added infamy
to the name of Lucretia Borgia. As regards the daughter of the Borgias
tradition has lied: she was not the merciless murderess of fancy and
fame. But there is no mitigation to the story of the empress Liuchi,
who, with poison as her weapon, made herself supreme dictator of the
great Chinese realm.
The death of the great emperor Kaotsou left two aspirants for the
throne, the princes Hoeiti, son of Liuchi, and Chow Wang, son of the
empress Tsi. There was a palace plot to raise Chow Wang to the throne,
but it was quickly foiled by the effective means used by the ambitious
Liuchi to remove the rivals from the path of her son. Poison did the
work. The empress Tsi unsuspiciously quaffed the fatal bowl, which was
then sent to Chow Wang, who innocently drank the same perilous draught.
Whatever may have been the state of the conspiracy, this vigorous method
of the queen-mother brought it to a sudden end, and Hoeiti ascended the
throne.
The young emperor seemingly did not approve of ascending to power over
the dead bodies of his opponents. He reproved his mother for her cruel
deed, and made a public statement that he had taken no part in the act.
Yet under this public demonstration secret influences seem to have been
at work within the palace walls, for the imperial poisoner retained her
power at court and her influence over her son. When the great princes
sought the capital to render homage to the new emperor, to their
surprise and chagrin they found the unscrupulous dowager empress at the
head of affairs, the sceptre of the realm practically in her hands.
They were to find that this dreadful woman was a dangerous foe to
oppose. Among the potentates was Tao Wang, Prince of Tsi, who, after
doing homage to the young emperor, was invited to feast with him. At
this banquet Liuchi made her appearance, and when the wine was passed
she insisted on being served first. These unpardonable breaches of
etiquette--which they were in the Chinese code of good manners--were
looked upon with astonishment by the visiting prince, who made no effort
to conceal his displeasure on seeing any one attempt to drink before the
emperor.
Liuchi, perceiving that she had made an enemy by her act, at once
resolved to remove him from her path, with the relentless and terrible
decision with which she had disposed of her former rivals. Covertly
dropping the poison, which she seems to have always had ready for use,
into a goblet of wine, she presented it to the prince of Tsi, asking him
to pledge her in a draught. The unsuspicious guest took the goblet from
her hand, without a dream of what the courtesy meant.
Fortunately for him, the emperor, who distrusted his mother too deeply
to leave her unobserved, had seen her secret act and knew too well what
it meant. Snatching the fatal bowl from the prince's hand, he begged
permission to pledge his health in that wine, and, with his eyes fixed
meaningly on his mother's face, lifted it in turn to his royal lips.
The startled woman had viewed the act with wide eyes and trembling
limbs. Seeing her son apparently on the point of drinking, an
involuntary cry of warning burst from her, and, springing hastily to her
feet, she snatched the fatal cup from his hand and dashed it to the
floor. The secret was revealed. The prince of Tsi had been on the very
point of death. With an exclamation of horror, and a keen invective
addressed to the murderess, he rushed from that perilous room, and very
probably was not long in hastening from a city which held so powerful
and unscrupulous a foe.
The Chinese Borgia's next act of violence found a barbarian for its
victim. The Tartar chief Mehe sent an envoy to the capital of China,
with a message which aroused the anger of the empress, who at once
ordered him to be executed, heedless of the fact that she thus brought
the nation to the brink of war. Four years afterwards Hoeiti, the
emperor, died, leaving vacant the throne which he had so feebly filled.
It is not to be supposed that Liuchi had any hand in this closing of a
brief and uneventful reign. Her son was in no sense in her way, and
served as a useful shield behind which she held the reins of
government. But she was in no haste to fill the vacant throne,
preferring to rule openly as the supreme power in the realm. In order to
consolidate her strength, she placed her brothers and near relations in
the great posts of the empire, and strengthened her position by every
means fair and foul.
It soon became evident, however, that this ambitious scheme could not be
carried through. Throughout the land went up a cry for a successor to
the dead emperor. In this dilemma the daring woman adopted a bold plan,
bringing forward a boy who she declared was the offspring of her dead
son, and placing this child of unknown parents upon the vacant throne.
As a regent was needed during the minority of her counterfeit grandson,
she had herself proclaimed as the holder of this high office.
All this was very little to the taste of the ministers of the late
emperor. Never before had the government of China been in the hands of a
woman. But they dared not make an effort to change it, or even to speak
their sentiments in too loud a tone. Liuchi had ways of suppressing
discontent that forced her enemies to hold their peace. The only one who
ventured to question the arbitrary will of the regent was the mother of
the nominal emperor, and sudden death removed her from the scene.
Liuchi's ready means of vengeance had been brought into play again.
For years now the imperious empress ruled China unquestioned. Others who
ventured on her path may have fallen, but the people remained content,
so that the usurper seems to have avoided any oppression of her
subjects. But these years brought the child she had placed on the throne
well on towards man's estate, and he began to show signs of an intention
to break loose from leading-strings. He was possessed of ability, or at
least of energy, and there were those ready to whisper in his ear the
bitter tale of how his mother had been forced to swallow Liuchi's
draught of death.
Stirred to grief and rage by these whispers of a fell deed, the youthful
ruler vowed revenge upon the murderess. He vowed his own death in doing
so. His hasty words were carried by spies to Liuchi's ears, and with her
usual promptness she caused the imprudent youth to be seized and
confined within the palace prison. The puppet under whom she ruled had
proved inconvenient, and there was not a moment's hesitation in putting
him out of the way. What became of him is not known, the prison rarely
revealing its secrets, but from Liuchi's character we may safely surmise
his fate.
The regent at once set to work to choose a more pliant successor to her
rebellious tool. But her cup of crime was nearly full. Though the people
remained silent, there was deep discontent among the officials of the
realm, while the nobles were fiercely indignant at this virtual seizure
of the throne by an ambitious woman. The storm grew day by day. One
great chief boldly declared that he acknowledged "neither empress nor
emperor," and the family of the late monarch Kaotsou regained their
long-lost courage on perceiving these evidences of a spirit of revolt.
Dangers were gathering around the resolute regent. But her party was
strong, her hand firm, her courage and energy great, and she would
perhaps have triumphed over all her foes had not the problem been
unexpectedly solved by her sudden death. The story goes that, while
walking one day in the palace halls, meditating upon the best means of
meeting and defeating her numerous foes, she found herself suddenly face
to face with a hideous spectre, around which rose the shades of the
victims whom she had removed by poison or violence from her path. With a
spasm of terror the horrified woman fell and died. Conscience had
smitten her in the form of this terrific vision, and retribution came to
the poisoner in the halls which she had made infamous by her crimes.
Her death ended the hopes of her friends. Her party fell to pieces
throughout the realm, but a strong force still held the palace, where
they fiercely defended themselves against the army brought by their
foes. But their great empress leader was gone, one by one they fell in
vain defence, and the capture of the palace put an end to the power
which the woman usurper had so long and vigorously maintained.
_THE INVASION OF THE TARTAR STEPPES._
Many as have been the wars of China, the Chinese are not a warlike
people. Their wars have mostly been fought at home to repress rebellion
or overcome feudal lords, and during the long history of the nation its
armies have rarely crossed the borders of the empire to invade foreign
states. In fact, the chief aggressive movements of the Chinese have been
rather wars of defence than of offence, wars forced upon them by the
incessant sting of invasions from the desert tribes.
For ages the Tartars made China their plunder-ground, crossing the
borders in rapid raids against which the Great Wall and the frontier
forces proved useless for defence, and carrying off vast spoil from the
industrious Chinese. They were driven from the soil scores of times,
only to return as virulently as before. Their warlike energy so far
surpassed that of their victims that one emperor did not hesitate to
admit that three Tartars were the equal of five Chinese. They were
bought off at times with tribute of rich goods and beautiful maidens,
and their chief was even given the sister of an emperor for wife. And
still they came, again and again, swarms of fierce wasps which stung the
country more deeply with each return.
This in time became intolerable, and a new policy was adopted, that of
turning the tables on the Tartars and invading their country in turn. In
the reign of Vouti, an emperor of the Han dynasty (135 B.C.), the Tartar
king sent to demand the hand of a Chinese princess in marriage, offering
to continue the existing truce. Bitter experience had taught the Chinese
how little such an offer was to be trusted. Wang Kue, an able general,
suggested the policy "of destroying them rather than to remain
constantly exposed to their insults," and in the end war was declared.
The hesitation of the emperor had not been without abundant reason. To
carry their arms into the wilds of Central Asia seemed a desperate
enterprise to the peaceful Chinese, and their first effort in this
direction proved a serious failure. Wang Kue, at the head of an army of
three hundred thousand men, marched into the desert, adopting a
stratagem to bring the Tartars within his reach. His plan failed, the
Tartars avoided an attack, and Wang Kue closed the campaign without a
shred of the glory he had promised to gain. The emperor ordered his
arrest, which he escaped in the effective Eastern fashion of himself
putting an end to his life.
But, though the general was dead, his policy survived, his idea of
aggression taking deep root in the Chinese official mind. Many centuries
were to elapse, however, before it bore fruit in the final subjection of
the desert tribes, and China was to become their prey as a whole before
they became the subjects of its throne.
The failure of Wang Kue gave boldness to the Tartars, who carried on in
their old way the war the Chinese had begun, making such bold and
destructive raids that the emperor sent out a general with orders to
fight the enemy wherever he could find them. This warrior, Wei Tsing by
name, succeeded in catching the raiders in a trap. The Tartar chief,
armed with the courage of despair, finally cut his way through the
circle of his foes and brought off the most of his men, but his camp,
baggage, wives, children, and more than fifteen thousand soldiers were
left behind, and the victorious general became the hero of his age, the
emperor travelling a day's journey from the capital to welcome him on
his return.