At the close of a long and exciting day, Her Majesty retired to rest on the 14th of November, weary with her labours but apparently much improved in health. Next morning she arose at her usual hour, 6 A.M., gave audience to the Grand Council and talked for some time with the late Emperor’s widow, with the Regent and with his wife, the daughter of Jung Lu. By a Decree issued in the name of the infant Emperor, she assumed the title of Empress Grand Dowager, making Kuang-Hsü’s widow Empress Dowager. Elaborate ceremonies were planned to celebrate the bestowal of these new titles, and to proclaim the installation of the Regent. Suddenly, at noon, while sitting at her meal, the Old Buddha was seized with a fainting fit, long and severe. When at last she recovered consciousness, it was clear to all that the stress and excitement of the past few days had brought on a relapse, her strength having been undermined by the long attack of dysentery. Realising that her end was near, she hurriedly summoned the new Empress Dowager, the Regent and the Grand Council to the Palace, where, upon their coming together, she dictated the following Decree, speaking in the same calm tones which she habitually used in transacting the daily routine of Government work:—
“By command of the Empress Grand Dowager: Yesterday I issued an Edict whereby Prince Ch’un was made Regent, and I commanded that the whole business of Government should be in his hands, subject only to my instructions. Being seized of a mortal sickness, and being without hope of recovery, I now order that henceforward the government of the Empire shall be entirely in the hands of the Regent. Nevertheless, should there arise any question of vital importance, in regard to which an expression of the Empress Dowager’s opinion is desirable, the Regent shall apply in person to her for instructions, and act accordingly.”
The significance of the conclusion of this Decree is apparent to anyone familiar with Chinese Court procedure and with the life history of the Empress herself. Its ingenious wording was expressly intended to afford to the new Empress Dowager and the Yehonala Clan an opportunity for intervention at any special crisis, thus maintaining the Clan’s final authority and safeguarding its position in the event of any hostile move by the Regent or his adherents. And the result of this precaution has already been shown on the occasion of the recent dismissal of Tuan Fang[129] from the Viceroyalty of Chihli for alleged want of respect in connection with the funeral ceremonies of the Empress Dowager, an episode which showed clearly that the Regent has no easy game to play, and that the new Empress Dowager, Lung Yu, has every intention to defend the position of the Clan and to take advantage thereof along lines very similar to those followed by her august predecessor.
After issuing the Decree above quoted, the Empress Dowager, rapidly sinking, commanded that her valedictory Decree be drafted and submitted to her for approval. This was done quickly. After perusing the document, she proceeded to correct it in several places, notably by the addition of the sentence, “It became my inevitable and bounden duty to assume the Regency.” Commenting on this addition, she volunteered the explanation that she wished it inserted because on more than one occasion her assumption of the supreme power had been wrongfully attributed to personal ambition, whereas, as a matter of fact, the welfare of the State had always weighed with her as much as her own inclinations, and she had been forced into this position. From her own pen also came the touching conclusion of the Decree, that sentence which begins: “Looking back over the memories of these fifty years,” etc. She observed, in writing this, that she had nothing to regret in her life, and could only wish that it might have lasted for many years more. She then proceeded to bid an affectionate farewell to her numerous personal attendants and the waiting maids around her, all of whom were overcome by very real and deep grief. To the end her mind remained quite clear, and, at the very point of death, she continued to speak as calmly as if she were just about to set out on one of her progresses to the Summer Palace. Again and again, when all thought the end had come, she recovered consciousness, and up to the end the watchers at her bedside could not help hoping (or fearing, as the case might be with them) that she would yet get the better of Death. At the last, in articulo mortis, they asked her, in accordance with the Chinese custom, to pronounce her last words. Strangely significant was the answer of the extraordinary woman who had moulded and guided the destinies of the Chinese people for half a century: “Never again,” she said, “allow any woman to hold the supreme power in the State. It is against the house-law of our Dynasty and should be strictly forbidden. Be careful not to permit eunuchs to meddle in Government matters. The Ming Dynasty was brought to ruin by eunuchs, and its fate should be a warning to my people.” Tzŭ Hsi died, as she had lived, above the law, yet jealous of its fulfilment by others. Only a few hours before she had provided for the transmission of authority to a woman of her own clan: now, confronting the dark Beyond, she hesitated to perpetuate a system which, in any but the strongest hands, could not fail to throw the Empire into confusion. She died, as she had lived, a creature of impulse and swiftly changing moods, a woman of infinite variety.
At 3 P.M., straightening her limbs, she expired with her face to the south, which is the correct position, according to Chinese ideas, for a dying sovereign. It was reported by those who saw her die that her mouth remained fixedly open, which the Chinese interpret as a sign that the spirit of the deceased is unwilling to leave the body and to take its departure for the place of the Nine Springs.
Thus died Tzŭ Hsi; and when her ladies and handmaidens had dressed the body in its Robes of State, embroidered with the Imperial Dragon, her remains and those of the Emperor were borne from the Lake Palace to the Forbidden City, through long lines of their kneeling subjects, and were reverently laid in separate Halls of the Palace, with all due state and ceremony.
The valedictory Decree of Tzŭ Hsi, the last words from that pen which had indeed been mightier than many swords, was for the most part a faithful reproduction of the classical models, the orthodox swan song of the ruler of a people which makes of its writings a religion. Its text is as follows:—
The Valedictory Mandate of Her Majesty Tz’ŭ-Hsi-Tuan-Yu-K’ang-I-Chao-Yü-Chuang-Cheng-Shou-Kung-Ch’in-Hsien-Ch’ung-Hsi, the Empress Grand Dowager, declareth as follows:—
“I, of humble virtue, did reverently receive the appointment of the late Emperor Hsien-Feng, which prepared for me a place amongst his Consorts. When the late Emperor T’ung-Chih succeeded in early childhood to the Throne, there was rebellion still raging in the land, which was being vigorously suppressed. Not only did the Taiping and turbaned rebels engage in successive outbreaks, but disorder was spread by the Kuei-chou aborigines and by Mahomedan bandits. The provinces of the coast were in great distress, the people on the verge of ruin, widespread distress confronting us on all sides.
“Co-operating then with the senior Consort of Hsien-Feng, the Empress Dowager of the Eastern Palace, I undertook the heavy duties of Government, toiling ever, day and night. Obeying the behests of His late Majesty, my husband, I urged on the Metropolitan and provincial officials, as well as the military commanders, directing their policies and striving for the restoration of peace. I employed virtuous officials and was ever ready to listen to wise counsel. I relieved my people’s distress in time of flood and famine. By the goodwill and bounty of Heaven, I suppressed the rebellions and out of dire peril restored peace. Later, when the Emperor T’ung-Chih passed away and the Emperor Kuang-Hsü, now just deceased, entered by adoption upon the great heritage, the crisis was even more dangerous and the condition of the people even more pitiable. Within the Empire calamities were rife, while from abroad we were confronted by repeated and increasing acts of aggression.
“Once again it became my inevitable and bounden duty to assume the Regency. Two years ago I issued a Decree announcing the Throne’s intention to grant a Constitution, and this present year I have promulgated the date at which it is to come into effect. Innumerable affairs of State have required direction at my hands and I have laboured without ceasing and with all my might. Fortunately, my constitution was naturally strong, and I have been able to face my duties with undiminished vigour. During the summer and autumn of this year, however, I have frequently been in bad health, at a time when pressing affairs of State allowed me no repose. I lost my sleep and appetite, and gradually my strength failed me. Yet even then I took no rest, not for a single day. And yesterday saw the death of His Majesty Kuang-Hsü; whereat my grief overwhelmed me. I can bear no more, and so am I come to the pass where no possible hope of recovery remains.
“Looking back upon the memories of these last fifty years, I perceive how calamities from within and aggression from without have come upon us in relentless succession, and that my life has never enjoyed a moment’s respite from anxiety. But to-day definite progress has been made towards necessary reforms. The new Emperor is but an infant, just reaching the age when wise instruction is of the highest importance. The Prince Regent and all our officials must henceforth work loyally together to strengthen the foundations of our Empire. His Majesty must devote himself to studying the interests of the country and so refrain from giving way to personal grief. That he may diligently pursue his studies, and hereafter add fresh lustre to the glorious achievements of his ancestors, is now my most earnest prayer.
“Mourning to be worn for only twenty-seven days.
“Cause this to be everywhere known!
“Tenth Moon, 23rd day (November the 15th).”
The title by which Her Majesty was canonised contains no less than twenty-two characters, sixteen of which were hers at the day of her death, the other six having been added in the Imperial Decrees which recorded her decease and praised her glorious achievements. The first character “Dutiful”—i.e. to her husband—is always accorded to a deceased Empress. It is significant of the unpractical nature of the literati, or of their cynicism, that the second of her latest titles signifies “reverend,” implying punctilious adherence to ancestral traditions! The third and fourth mean “Equal of Heaven,” which places her on a footing of equality with Confucius, while the fifth and sixth raise her even higher than the Sage in the national Pantheon, for it means “Increase in Sanctity,” of which Confucius was only a “Manifestor.” In the records of the Dynasty she will henceforth be known as the Empress “Dutiful, Reverend and Glorious,” a title, according to the laws of Chinese honorifics, higher than any woman ruler has hitherto received since the beginning of history.
Since her death the prestige of the Empress Dowager, and her hold on the imagination of the people, have grown rather than decreased. Around her coffin, while it lay first in her Palace of Peaceful Longevity and later in a hall at the foot of the Coal Hill, north of the Forbidden City, awaiting the appointed day propitious for burial, there gathered something more than the conventional regrets and honours which fall usually to the lot of China’s rulers. Officials as well as people felt that with her they had lost the strong hand of guidance, and a personality which appealed to most of them as much from the human as from the official point of view. Their affectionate recollections of the Old Buddha were clearly shown by the elaborate sacrifices paid to her manes at various periods from the day of her death to that day, a year later, when her ancestral tablet was brought home to the Forbidden City from the Imperial tombs with all pomp and circumstance.
On the All Souls’ day of the Buddhists, celebrated in the 7th Moon, and which fell in the September following her death, a magnificent barge made of paper and over a hundred and fifty feet long was set up outside the Forbidden City on a large empty space adjoining the Coal Hill. It was crowded with figures of attendant eunuchs and handmaidens, and contained furniture and viands for the use of the illustrious dead in the lower regions. A throne was placed in the bows, and around it were kneeling effigies of attendant officials all wearing their Robes of State as if the shade of Tzŭ Hsi were holding an audience.
On the morning of the All Souls’ festival the Regent, in the name of the Emperor, performed sacrifice before the barge, which was then set alight and burnt, in order that the Old Buddha might enjoy the use of it at the “yellow springs.” A day or two before her funeral, hundreds of paper effigies of attendants, cavalry, camels and other pack animals, were similarly burnt so that her spirit might enjoy all the pomp to which she had been accustomed in life.
The following account of her funeral is reproduced from The Times of 27th November, 1909:—
“The 9th of November at 5 A.M. was the hour of good omen originally chosen by the Astrologers for the departure of the remains of Her late Majesty the Empress Dowager from their temporary resting place in the Forbidden City to the mausoleum prepared for her at the Eastern Hills. To meet the convenience of the foreign representatives, the hour was subsequently changed to 7 A.M.
“The arrangements for the procession and the part taken therein by the Diplomatic Body, were generally similar to those of the funeral of His Majesty Kuang-Hsü, but the mounted troops were more numerous and better turned out, the police were noticeably smarter and well-dressed, and the pageant as a whole was in many respects more imposing. But for those who, in May last, witnessed the late Emperor’s funeral, the scene lacked one element of its brilliantly picturesque effect, namely, the bright sunshine which on that occasion threw every detail and distinctive note of the cortège into clear relief against the grey background of the Palace walls. The day was cold, with lowering clouds, and the long delay which preceded the appearance of the catafalque at the point where the Diplomatic Body was stationed had an inevitably depressing effect on the spectators.
“The catafalque was borne by eighty-four bearers, the largest number which can carry this unwieldy burden through the City gates; but beyond the walls the coffin was transferred to a larger bier borne by one hundred and twenty men. In front walked the Prince Regent, the bodyguard of Manchu Princes and the members of the Grand Council, attended by the Secretariat staff. Behind rode first a smart body of troops, followed by a large number of camels whose Mongol attendants carried tent-poles and other articles for use in the erection of the ‘matshed palaces,’ wherein the coffin rests at night at the different stages of the four days’ journey to the tombs. Behind the Mongols were borne in procession the gaudy honorific umbrellas presented to the Old Buddha on the occasion of her return from exile at Hsi-an fu in 1901: all these were burnt on the 16th instant when the body was finally entombed. Following the waving umbrellas came a body of Lama dignitaries, and after them a contingent from the Imperial Equipage Department bearing Manchu sacrificial vessels, Buddhist symbols and embroidered banners. Conspicuous in the cortège were three splendid chariots with trappings and curtains of Imperial yellow silk, emblazoned with dragons and phœnixes, and two palanquins similar to those used by the Empress Dowager on her journeys in State; these also were burned at the mausoleum. Noticeable figures in the procession were the six chief eunuchs, including the notorious Li Lien-ying and the short handsome attendant who usually accompanied the Empress’s sedan chair. The spectacle, as a whole, was most impressive; no such pomp and circumstance, say the Chinese, has marked the obsequies of any Empress of China since the funeral of the Empress Wu (circa A.D. 700) of whom the annals record that hundreds of attendants were buried alive in her mausoleum.
“The police arrangements attracted general attention by their remarkable efficiency, which many Chinese attribute to the present Empress Dowager’s constant fear of assassination. Every closed door along the route of the procession was closely guarded by soldiers and special precautions taken against bomb-throwing. The street guards were numerous and alert, and the arrangements generally were characterised by discipline and decorum. There was little confusion in the cortège, and none of the unseemly shouting usual on such occasions.
“Ninety miles away, in a silent spot surrounded by virgin pine forest and backed by protecting hills, are the Eastern Tombs, towards which, for four days, the great catafalque made its way along the yellow-sanded road. There stands the mausoleum, originally built by the faithful Jung Lu for his Imperial Mistress at a cost which stands in the government records at eight millions of taels. It is close to the ‘Ting Ling,’ the burial-place of her husband, the Emperor Hsien-Feng. To the west of it stands the tomb of her colleague and co-Regent (the Empress Tzŭ An), and on the east that of the first Consort of Hsien-Feng, who died before his accession to the Throne, and was subsequently canonised as Empress. Throughout her lifetime, and particularly of late years, Yehonala took great interest and pride in her last resting-place, visiting it at intervals and exacting the most scrupulous attention from those entrusted with its building and adornment. On one occasion, in 1897, when practically completed, she had it rebuilt because the teak pillars were not sufficiently massive. After the death of Jung Lu, Prince Ch’ing became responsible for the custody of the tomb and its precious contents—the sacrificial vessels of carved jade, the massive vases and incense burners of gold and silver, which adorn the mortuary chamber; the richly-jewelled couch to receive the coffin, and the carved figures of serving maids and eunuchs who stand for ever in attendance. After the last ceremony at the tomb, when the Princes, Chamberlains and high officials had taken their final farewell of the illustrious dead, while the present Empress Dowager, with her attendants and the surviving consorts of the Emperors Hsien-Feng and T’ung-Chih, offered the last rites in the mortuary chamber, the massive stone door of the tomb was let down and the resting-place of Tzŭ Hsi closed for ever.
“The cost of the late Emperor’s funeral has been officially recorded, with the nice accuracy which characterises Chinese finance, at 459,940 taels, 2 mace, 3 candareens and 6 li. As the cost of a funeral in China closely reflects the dignity of the deceased and the “face” of his or her immediate survivors, these figures become particularly interesting when compared with the cost of the Empress Dowager’s funeral, which is placed at one and a-quarter to one and a-half million taels. Rumour credited the Regent with an attempt to cut down this expenditure, which attempt he abandoned at the last moment in the face of the displeasure of the powerful Yehonala Clan. That the Old Buddha’s magnificent funeral was appreciated by the populace of Peking is certain, for to them she was for fifty years a sympathetic personality and a great ruler.
“The conveyance of Her Majesty’s ancestral tablet from the tombs of the Eastern Hills to its resting-place in the Temple of Ancestors in the Forbidden City was a ceremony in the highest degree impressive and indicative of the vitality of those feelings which make ancestor-worship the most important factor in the life of the Chinese. The tablet, a simple strip of carved and lacquered wood, bearing the name of the deceased in Manchu and Chinese characters, had been officially present at the burial. With the closing of the great door of the tomb the spirit of the departed ruler is supposed to be translated to the tablet, and to the latter is therefore given honour equal to that which was accorded to the sovereign during her lifetime. Borne aloft in a gorgeous chariot draped with Imperial yellow silk and attended by a large mounted escort, Tzŭ Hsi’s tablet journeyed slowly and solemnly, in three days’ stages, from the Eastern Hills to Peking. At each stage it rested for the night in a specially constructed pavilion, being ‘invited’ by the Master of the Ceremonies, on his knees and with all solemnity, to be pleased to leave its chariot and rest. For the passage of this habitation of the spirit of the mighty dead the Imperial road had been specially prepared and swept by an army of men; it had become a via sacra on which no profane feet might come or go. As the procession bearing the sacred tablet drew near to the gates of the capital, the Prince Regent and all the high officers of the Court knelt reverently to receive it. All traffic was stopped; every sound stilled in the streets, where the people knelt to do homage to the memory of the Old Buddha. Slowly and solemnly the chariot was borne through the main gate of the Forbidden City to the Temple of the Dynasty’s ancestors, the most sacred spot in the Empire, where it was ‘invited’ to take its appointed place among the nine Ancestors and their thirty-five Imperial Consorts. Before this could be done, however, it was necessary that the tablets of Tzŭ Hsi’s son, T’ung-Chih, and of her daughter-in-law, should first be removed from that august assembly, because due ceremony required that the arriving tablet should perform obeisance to those of its ancestors, and it would not be fitting for the tablet of a parent to perform this ceremony in the presence of that of a son or daughter-in-law. The act of obeisance was performed by deputy, in the person of the Regent acting for the child Emperor, and consisted of nine kowtows before each tablet in the Temple, or about 400 prostrations in all. When these had been completed, with due regard to the order of seniority of the deceased, the tablets of the Emperor T’ung-Chih and his wife were formally ‘invited’ to return to the Temple, where obeisance was made on their behalf to the shade of Tzŭ Hsi which had been placed in the shrine beside that of her former colleague and co-Regent, the Empress Tzŭ An. Thus ended the last ceremonial act of the life and death of this remarkable woman; but her spirit still watches over the Forbidden City and the affairs of her people, who firmly believe that it will in due time guide the nation to a happy issue out of all their afflictions. As time goes on, the weaknesses of her character and the errors of her career are forgotten, and her greatness only remembered. And no better epitaph could be written for this great Manchu than that of her own valedictory Decree which, rising above all the pettiness and humiliations of her reign, looking death and change steadfastly in the face, raises her in our eyes (to quote a writer in the Spectator)[130] ‘to that vague ideal state of human governance imagined by the Greek, when the Kings should be philosophers and the philosophers Kings.’”
Marble Bridge over the Lake in the Western Park which surrounds the Lake Palace.
Photo, Betines, Peking.
“Ti Wang Miao” or Temple to the Memory of Virtuous Emperors of Previous Dynasties.
Photo, Betines, Peking.