Part 12 (1/2)

When Guang-hsu repeatedly expressed his desire to devote his life to Nuharoo and me, I felt uneasy. Nuharoo believed that it had nothing to do with his early trauma. ”He was taught piety by his tutors, that is all,” she said.

My instinct told me that my sister had broken something inside the boy, something we were yet to discover. I suspected my own role in the matter. How much was Guang-hsu affected when he was wrenched from the family nest? However terrible it had been, it was his nest. The palace offered him a meaningful existence, but at the price of tremendous pressure. I never stopped questioning myself. Left alone, would Guang-hsu have fallen into reckless dissipation like the rest of the Manchu royals? What right did I have to determine the course of the boy's life?

Around the age of forty-five I had become uncertain of the life I had chosen for myself. When I first entered the Forbidden City, I never doubted my aspirations to live there. Now I felt even more strongly about what I had missed and what had been taken away from me-the freedom to wander, the right to love and, most of all, the right to be myself.

I would never forget Chinese New Year's celebrations in Wuhu. I had enjoyed the harvest, the fresh rice, salted and roasted soybeans and picked vegetables. All the girls gathered together with their treats and watched local opera performances. I missed visiting relatives and friends. Although I had every luxury and my duties were often rewarding, Imperial glory also meant loneliness and living in constant fear of rebellion and a.s.sa.s.sination.

Tung Chih's death had changed my perspective toward life. I didn't miss his being the Emperor, I missed holding his tiny feet in my palms when he was born, missed the first time he smiled his toothless smile. I missed taking him to gardens and watching him run free. His favorite thing to do was to fas.h.i.+on willow branches into play horsewhips. Nothing was about being Emperor, but being with each other.

Tung Chih's death had robbed me of happiness, and I was determined to prevent Guang-hsu from being robbed of the same. I avoided anything that would cause regret and remorse, or so I thought. I wasn't sure that I was escaping it.

I wanted to see Guang-hsu become the Emperor on his own terms, not mine. I wished to see him become a man before a ruler. I knew Chinese teachings wouldn't do much to help that, but I hoped that the Western studies might give him that chance.

My attendance at the audiences and Nuharoo's preoccupation with her religious ceremonies often left Guang-hsu at the mercy of the eunuchs after his schooling. I would later discover that several of Guang-hsu's attendants had been extraordinarily malicious. I expected that An-te-hai's death would agitate the eunuch population, causing insecurity and even rage. But I never expected this expression of revenge.

Behind my back, the eunuchs wrapped the nine-year-old Guang-hsu in a heavy blanket and rolled him in the snow. The blanket made him sweat profusely, but his uncovered limbs were exposed to the cold. When I became suspicious about his chronic coughing, the eunuchs withheld information until I investigated and found out the truth.

His health remained delicate, and the eunuchs continued to torment the boy over An-te-hai's murder. Not all the eunuchs intended to torture Guang-hsu, but their superst.i.tions and antiquated traditions affected how they cared for him. For example, they sincerely believed that starvation and dehydration were acceptable methods of medical treatment.

What I couldn't forgive were those who failed to provide Guang-hsu with a chamber pot in time, and who laughed and humiliated him when he wet his pants. These fiends I punished severely.

Unfortunately, the most vicious acts were committed as if they were nothing out of the ordinary. Then it was I who was called abusive and cruel.

I could not forgive myself even after the eunuchs were punished. Guang-hsu's suffering pained me. I began to doubt my making him Emperor. The irony was that the Manchu princes constantly wished for fate to put their sons in Guang-hsu's shoes.

Future critics, historians and scholars would insist that Guang-hsu had led a normal life until I, his aunt, wrecked him. Guang-hsu's life in the Forbidden City was described as ”deprived.” He was constantly ”tormented by the evil murderess” and, it was said, he lived like ”a virtual prisoner until he died.”

Although it was true that I did not adopt Guang-hsu out of love, I grew to love him. I could not explain how it had happened, nor did I feel the need to. Salvation was what I found in the little boy. Anyone who was once a mother or who had the misfortune to lose a child would understand what happened between Guang-hsu and me.

I remembered that Guang-hsu was too young to detect my intentions as I taught by example that ruling our vast country was a balancing act. I hinted that placing trust in his ministers would not be good enough to secure his position as the one and only ruler of China. It was people like Li Hung-chang and Chang Chih-tung who could float or sink his ”boat.” I let Guang-hsu watch how I played both men against each other as I turned the court into a real-life stage.

During one October audience Li Hung-chang got carried away with his proposal to demolish the ancient Chinese school system and replace it with a Western model. As a counterweight to his enthusiasm, I used Chang Chih-tung. As a product of the traditional Chinese system, Chang preached the importance of ”educating the soul before its body.”

At this audience, as I had predicted to Guang-hsu, Li suddenly felt he was under attack. ”It is my way to lead him to reconsider his approach,” I explained to Guang-hsu later. ”My calling for Chang served to remind Li Hung-chang that he is not the only one the throne depends on.”

Such tactics of manipulation were not something I wished to teach my son, but they were necessary to his survival as Emperor. Guang-hsu had inherited Tung Chih's vulnerable empire, and I saw it as my duty to prepare him for the worst. As the saying went, ”The devil that can hurt you is the devil you don't know.” The damage would be even worse if the child were to be betrayed by his parent or guardian-a lesson I learned with Tung Chih's death.

18.

The temperature suddenly dropped and water in the giant jar in the courtyard outside the audience hall glazed over with ice. Inside, the wood-burning heaters glowed red in the four corners. Nuharoo and I were glad that we had had the windows repaired. The gaps had been sealed to stop the whistle of the northwest wind. The eunuchs also changed the draperies. The thin silk curtains were replaced by thick velvet.

As soon as Guang-hsu was able, I talked with Tutor Weng and made the audiences his cla.s.sroom. It was not easy for my son. His tutor would help him digest what he saw and heard. Often the matters were too complicated for a child to grasp. To make it work, I took time preparing Guang-hsu for the upcoming discussion.

”Was it Russia's business to protect Sinkiang?” Guang-hsu asked about the situation back in 1871, when tsarist forces had moved into our far western wilderness of Sinkiang, a region called Ili, after its river.

”Russia went on behalf of our court, to prevent Ili from becoming an independent Moslem state,” I replied. ”We didn't invite the Russians, though.”

”You mean the Russians invited themselves in?”

”Yes.”

Guang-hsu tried to comprehend. ”But ... weren't the Moslem uprisings swept away?” He pointed at the map and his finger traced the places. ”Why are the Russians still here? Why didn't they return to where they came from?”

”We don't know,” I said.

”Yung Lu is in Sinkiang, isn't he?” the child persisted.

I nodded.

”Has he done something to drive the Russians away?”

”Yes, he has asked our charitable Russian neighbors for the return of Ili.”

”And?”

”They refused.”

”Why?”

I told Guang-hsu that I wished I could explain. Unlike Tung Chih, at least Guang-hsu understood that China did not hold a strong hand at the bargaining table. Guang-hsu tried hard to fathom the decisions he was forced to make, but often it was impossible. The child couldn't perceive why China had to carry on long and exhaustive diplomatic negotiations with Russia only to have to yield in the end. He would never understand why a treaty in his name he had just signed, in February of 1881, imposed a payment of nine million rubles to Russia for China's own territories.

I began to see how Guang-hsu was reacting to the audiences. He was under constant pressure and suffered terribly. When he heard bad news, I could feel his nervousness and saw fear written on his face. I was guilty of joining the ministers who grumbled impatiently about when Guang-hsu would catch up by growing up.

Soon it was no longer simply a learning experience for Guang-hsu. Shocked on a daily basis, his mood and health were adversely affected. Yet my choice was either to shelter him or to let him live the truth. Either way it was cruel. When we summoned the minister of agriculture to give his prediction on the next year's crops, Guang-hsu broke down. He felt personally responsible when the minister forecasted drastic harvest shortfalls resulting from flood and drought.

Now an adolescent, Guang-hsu did show determination and self-discipline. I was relieved when he exhibited no desire to cavort with the eunuchs and no interest in slipping out of the palace to carouse. He seemed to prefer solitude. He would eat his meals alone and was uneasy around company. When dining with Nuharoo and me, he sat quietly and ate whatever was put on his plate. My sadness over the loss of Tung Chih affected him so profoundly that Guang-hsu made sure that his behavior would please me.

I wished that I could tell the difference between his seriousness in study and his encroaching melancholy. Even though my experience told me that daily audiences could be a tremendous strain, I didn't realize that to a child they could be poison.

Eager to bring him to maturity, I denied the possibility that I could be robbing him of his childhood. Guang-hsu's pleasant appearance fooled me. Only later would he confess that he feared that he wasn't living up to my expectations.

I didn't tell Guang-hsu that losing was simply a way of learning how to win. I was afraid of repeating my mistakes with Tung Chih. Spoiling and pampering were in part what had killed my son. Tung Chih rebelled because he knew that he didn't have to worry about losing my affection.

Guang-hsu followed strict protocol and etiquette. Tutor Weng took every measure to prevent him from the possibility of abusing his privileges. Thus Guang-hsu was turned into a palace hostage. Only later would I learn that each and every time the ministers addressed their problems to the child, he would consider them his own. He became ashamed of himself for his inability to solve the problems of the empire.