The family of Yehonala, one of the oldest of the Manchu clans, traces its descent in direct line to Prince Yangkunu, whose daughter married (in 1588) Nurhachu, the real founder of Manchu rule in China and the first direct ancestor of the Ta Ching Emperors. Yangkunu was killed at Mukden in 1583, in one of his raids upon the territories which still owed allegiance to the degenerate Chinese sovereign Wan Li. His clan lived and flourished in that region, near the Corean border, which is dominated by the Long White Mountain, the true cradle of the Manchu stock. He and his people seem to have acquired the arts of war, and much lust of conquest, by constantly harassing the rich lands on their ever-shifting borders, those rich lands which to-day seem to be about to pass under the yoke of new invaders. Yangkunu’s daughter assumed the title of Empress by right of her husband’s conquests, and her son it was who eventually wrested the whole of Manchuria from the Ming Dynasty and reigned under the name of Tien-Ts’ung.

Into this clan, in November 1835, was born Yehonala, whose life was destined to influence countless millions of human beings, Yehonala, who was to be thrice Regent of China and its autocratic ruler for over half a century. Her father, whose name was Hui Cheng, held hereditary rank as Captain in one of the Eight Banner Corps. Considering the advantages of his birth, he was generally accounted unsuccessful by his contemporaries; at the time of his death he had held no higher post than that of an Intendant of Circuit, or Taotai. Holding this rank in the province of Anhui, he died when his daughter was but three years of age. His widow and family were well cared for by a kinsman named Muyanga, father of her who subsequently became Empress Consort of Hsien-Feng and Co-Regent with Yehonala. From him the children received every advantage of education.

Many unfounded and ridiculous stories have been circulated in recent years attributing to the Empress Dowager humble, and sometimes disgraceful, antecedents. Many of these are nothing more than the fruit of Yellow Journalism, seeking sensational material of the kind which appeals to the iconoclastic instincts of its readers. Others, however, undoubtedly owe their origin to the envy, hatred and malice of Palace intrigues, to the initiative of the Iron-capped Princes and other high officials of the elder branch of the Imperial family, many of whom were addicted to besmirching the family and character of Tzŭ Hsi in order to inflict “loss of face” on the Yehonala clan. In this way, and because mud thrown from above usually sticks, their malicious stories were freely circulated, and often believed, in Peking and in the South: witness the writings of K’ang Yu-wei and his contemporaries.[1]

To cite an instance. One of these mythical stories used to be told, with every appearance of good faith, by Prince Tun, the fifth son of the Emperor Tao-Kuang. This Prince cherished a grudge against Tzŭ Hsi because of his disappointed ambitions: adopted himself out of the direct line of succession, he had nevertheless hoped, in 1875, that his son would have been chosen Emperor. The story, as he used to tell it, was that when the Empress’s mother had been left a widow with a large family (including the future ruler of China) they lived in the most abject poverty at the prefectural city of Ningkuo, where her husband had held office and died. Having no funds to pay for her return to Peking, she would have been reduced to beggary had it not been that, by a lucky accident, a sum of money intended for another traveller was delivered on board of her boat at a city on the way, and that the traveller, on learning of the mistake and being moved to pity at the sight of the family’s destitution, insisted on her keeping the money. Twenty-five years later, when Tzŭ Hsi had become the all-powerful Regent, this official appeared for audience at Peking, when, remembering the benefits received at his hands, the Empress raised him from his knees and expressed her gratitude for his kindness. The story is prettier than many which emanate from the same source, and original, too, in the idea of a Manchu official dying at his provincial post in abject poverty, but unfortunately for the truth of the narrative, it has been established beyond shadow of doubt that neither the wife nor the family of Tzŭ Hsi’s father were with him at the time of his death. They had gone on ahead to Peking, in anticipation of his early return thither to take up a new appointment in the White Banner Corps.

Before proceeding further, it may be well to refer briefly to the Yehonala clan and its position in relation to the elder branch of the Imperial family, a question of no small importance, past and future, in its effect on the history of modern China. Jealousy and friction there have always been between the Imperial house and this powerful patrician clan, since the first Yehonala became de facto ruler of the Empire after the collapse of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy, but their relations became more markedly strained after the coup d’état in 1898, and although the wholesome fear of the Empress Dowager’s “divine wrath” prevented any definite cleavage, the possibilities of trouble were ever latent in the Forbidden City. Recent events at Peking, and especially the dismissal of the Chihli Viceroy, Tuan Fang, for alleged irreverence at the funeral ceremonies of the late Empress Dowager, have emphasised the divisions in the Manchu camp and the dangers that beset its Government, now bereft of the strong hand of Tzŭ Hsi. It is difficult for foreigners to form any clear idea of the actual conditions of life and of party divisions in the Palace, confused as they are by intricate questions of genealogy, of inter-marriage and adoptions by relatives, of ancient clan feuds. It should, however, be explained that the Imperial Clansmen (known in their own tongue as Aisin Gioros) divided into the Yellow and Red Girdles, are the descendants respectively of Nurhachu himself and of that ruler’s ancestors, by virtue of which ancestry they consider themselves (and the Chinese would recognise the claim) to be the sang pur and highest nobility of the Manchu Dynasty. The Yehonala clan, although in no sense of Royal blood (as marriages between the sovereign and female members of a family do not entitle that family to claim more than noble rank) owes its great power not only to its numbers, but to the fact that it has given three Empresses Dowager to the Empire; but, above all, to the great prestige and personal popularity of Tzŭ Hsi. If recent events are to be interpreted in the light of history, and of her significant death-bed mandate, the present leaders of the Yehonala clan are determined that the present Empress Dowager, the widow of Kuang-Hsü, shall follow in the footsteps of her august aunt, and control the business of the State, at least during the Regency. And, thanks to Tzŭ Hsi’s far-seeing statecraft, the young Emperor is a grandson of Jung Lu, and may be expected therefore to reverence the policy handed down by the Old Buddha.

One long-standing cause of suspicion and dissension between the parties in the Palace arises from the fear of the elder descendants of Tao-Kuang (of whom Prince P’u Lun and Prince Kung are the chief representatives) that the present boy-Emperor, or his father, the Regent, will hereafter elevate the founder of his branch, the first Prince Ch’un, to the posthumous rank of Emperor, a species of canonisation which Europeans might consider unimportant, but which, in the eyes of the Chinese, would constitute a sort of posthumous usurpation on the part of the junior branch of the Imperial clan, since the first Prince Ch’un would thus be placed on a footing of equality with Nurhachu, the founder of the Dynasty, and would practically become the founder of a new line. The first Prince Ch’un had himself foreseen the possibility of such an occurrence, and had realised that it could not fail to lead to serious trouble, for which reason, as will be seen hereafter, he had taken precautions to prevent it. It has not escaped the attention of those whose business it is to watch the straws that float down the stream of high Chinese policy that, since the accession of the present child-Emperor to the Throne, the ancestral sacrifices made at the mausoleum of the first Prince Ch’un have been greatly elaborated in pomp and circumstance, while in official documents his name has been given “double elevation,” that is to say, in the eyes of the literati he is made to rank on the same level as a reigning Emperor. It is commonly believed by those Chinese who are in a position to speak with authority on the subject, that when the Emperor attains his majority, he will be led to confer further posthumous honours upon his grandfather, including that of “triple elevation,” which would place him on a footing of equality with a deceased Emperor, and entitle him to worship at a special shrine in the Temple of the Ancestors of the Dynasty. From a Chinese constitutional point of view, the consequences of such a step would be extremely serious and difficult of adjustment.

The Old Buddha was a strong partisan, and during her lifetime her immediate kinsmen were practically above the law, basking in the sunshine of her protection or making hay thereby, so that there was always a strong undercurrent of friction between them and the Yellow and Red Girdles, friction of which echoes frequently reached the tea-houses and market places of the capital. Tzŭ Hsi delighted to snub the Aisin Gioros; in one Decree she forbade them to reside in the business quarter of the city, on the ground that she had heard it said that some of them were making money by disreputable trades. She was by no means beloved of the Iron-capped princes and other noble descendants of Nurhachu, who, while they feared her, never ceased to complain that she curtailed their time-honoured privileges.

An interesting example of her masterful methods of dealing with these hereditary aristocrats occurred when one of the Imperial Dukes ventured to build himself a pretentious house in the immediate vicinity of the Imperial City, and overlooking a considerable portion of the palace enclosure. No sooner was the building completed than the Old Buddha confiscated it, reprimanding the owner for his lack of decorum in daring to overlook the Palace grounds, and forthwith she bestowed it upon her younger brother, the Duke Chao.

Another example of her clannishness, and of the difficulties which it created for the local authorities, occurred upon the establishment of the new Police Board at Peking, three years after the return of the Court from exile in 1902. The Grand Councillor, Hsü Shih-ch’ang, a Chinese by birth, and a favourite of Her Majesty, was placed at the head of this new Board, but he soon realised that the lot of his policemen, when dealing with the members of the ruling clan, was by no means a happy one. Her Majesty’s third brother, the Duke Kuei Hsiang, was a particularly hardened offender, absolutely declining to recognise police regulations of any kind, and inciting his retainers to “gain face” by driving on the wrong side of the road and by committing other breaches of the regulations. On one occasion a zealous policeman went so far as to arrest one of the Duke’s servants. Hsü Shih-ch’ang, hearing of the occurrence, promptly ordered the man’s release, but the Duke, grievously insulted, insisted upon an abject apology from the head of the Board in person. Thrice did the unfortunate Hsü call at the Duke’s palace without gaining admission, and it was only after he had performed a kowtow before the Duke in the open courtyard outside the palace that his apology was accepted. An idea of the importance of this incident in the eyes of the Pekinese, and of the power of the clansmen, may be inferred from the fact that Hsü subsequently became Viceroy of the Manchurian provinces, later President of the Ministry of Posts and Communications, and in August, 1910, was elevated to the Grand Council. On this occasion, however, the Old Buddha, learning of the incident, “excused” Hsü from further attendance at the Grand Council, and shortly afterwards he was transferred to Mukden.

Yehonala’s mother, the lady Niuhulu, survived her husband for many years, residing in his house in “Pewter Lane” (Hsi-la-hu-t’ung), quite close to the Legation quarter. When her daughter became Empress Mother, she received the rank of Imperial Duchess. She appears to have been a lady of great ability and good sense, distinguished even amongst the members of a clan always noted for the intelligence of its women kind. After living to a ripe old age, she was buried beside her husband in the family graveyard which lies without the city to the west, in the vicinity of the Europeans’ race-course, where her daughter’s filial piety was displayed by the erection of an honorific arch and the customary marble tablets. When, in January 1902, the Empress Dowager returned from exile by railway from Cheng-ting fu, she gained great kudos from the orthodox by declining to enter the capital by the Hankow railway line, because that line ran close to her parents’ graves, and it would have been a serious breach of respect to their memory to pass the spot without reverently alighting to make obeisance. She therefore changed her route, entering Peking from the south, to the great admiration of all her people.

Of Yehonala’s childhood there is little to record except that among her youthful playmates was a kinsman, Jung Lu, who in after years was to play so prominent a part in many a crisis of her career. By common report she had been betrothed to him from birth. This report is not verifiable, but there is no doubt that the great influence which Jung Lu exercised over her, far greater than that of any of her family or highest officials, was founded in their early youth. K’ang Yu-wei and other Chinese officials opposed to the Manchu rule have not hesitated to assert that he was on terms of improper intimacy with her for years, dating from the flight to Jehol, and before the decease of her husband the Emperor.

Yehonala’s education followed the usual classical course, but the exceptional alertness and activity of her mind, combined with her inordinate ambition and love of power, enabled her to rise superior to its usually petrifying influences and to turn her studies to practical account in the world of living men. She learned to paint skilfully and to take real pleasure in the art; she was an adept at the composition of verses, as classically wooden in form as anything produced by the most distinguished of English public schools. At the age of sixteen she had mastered the Five Classics in Chinese and Manchu, and had studied to good purpose the historical records of the twenty-four Dynasties. She had beyond doubt that love of knowledge which is the beginning of wisdom, and the secret of power, and she had, moreover, the chroniclers aver, a definite presentiment of the greatness of her destiny.

Upon the death of the Emperor Tao-Kuang in 1850, his eldest surviving son, aged nineteen, ascended the Throne under the reign-title of Hsien-Feng. After the expiry of the period of mourning (twenty-seven months) during which the new Emperor may not marry, a Decree was issued commanding that all beautiful Manchu maidens of eligible age should present themselves at the Imperial Household Office which would make from them a selection for the Emperor’s harem. Prior to his accession, Hsien-Feng had married the eldest daughter of Muyanga, but she had died before his coming to the Throne. Among the maidens who obeyed the nuptial Edict were Muyanga’s second daughter, Sakota, and the young Yehonala. On the 14th of June, 1852, about sixty of the beauty and fashion of the Manchu aristocracy appeared before the critical eye of the widow of Tao-Kuang, who selected twenty-eight from among them, and these she divided into the four classes of Imperial concubines, viz., “Fei,” “P’in,” “Kuei Jen,” and “Ch’ang Tsai.” Sakota thus became a “P’in,” and Yehonala a “Kuei Jen” or “honourable person.” With rare exceptions, these Imperial concubines are much more the servants of their mother-in-law than the wives of their sovereign. In theory, their number is limited to seventy, but this number is seldom maintained; beside them, there are within the Palace precincts some two thousand female Manchus, employed as handmaidens and general servants under the direction of the eunuchs. In all domestic matters of the household, the widow of the Emperor last deceased exercises supreme authority, and although precedent allows the Emperor to inspect the ladies selected, he has no voice in their disposition or the determination of their rank.

Thus Yehonala left her home in Pewter Lane to become an inmate of the Forbidden City, cut off henceforth from all direct intercourse with her own people. An aged tiring woman who served her from the time of her first entry into the Palace until her death, is our authority for the following interesting description of the only visit which she ever paid to her family. It was in January 1857, nine months after the birth of her son, the heir to the Throne, that, by special permission of the Emperor, she was allowed to leave the Palace. Early in the morning, eunuchs were sent to announce to her mother that her daughter, the Concubine Yi, was coming to visit her at mid-day. There was much joyful excitement amongst the family and its friends at this rare honour. All the neighbours in Pewter Lane turned out to see the eunuchs and the yellow-draped chair. The mother and all the members of the household (including some of an elder generation) ranged themselves on either side of the entrance courtyard as the chair was borne within. At the head of the steps leading to the inner courtyard the eunuchs in attendance requested her to descend; she then entered the main room, where she took the seat of honour. Her family approached respectfully to salute her, all kneeling except her mother and the elder relatives. A banquet was then served at which, by special arrangement, the mother took a seat lower than that of the daughter, thus recognising her position as mother of the Heir Apparent. All present were most favourably impressed by Yehonala’s unaffected and affectionate disposition; she seemed quite unspoiled by the formalities and splendours of Court life, talking with all the old vivacity as a daughter of the house, showing the keenest interest in the family’s affairs, and particularly in the education of her sisters.

The banquet lasted till late in the afternoon, Yehonala asking and answering innumerable questions. As the short January day drew to its close, the eunuchs requested her to prepare to return to the Palace. She therefore took an affectionate farewell of her family, expressing sincere regret that her life must be cut off from theirs, but hoping that some day the Emperor might again permit her to visit them. Her mother, she said, would, in any case, be allowed to come and see her in the Palace. After distributing presents to all the members of her family, she entered her palanquin and was borne away. She never saw her home again, but in later years her mother used frequently to visit her in the Forbidden City.

Upon entering the Palace, Yehonala proceeded to establish herself firmly and speedily in the good graces of Tao-Kuang’s widow; through her influence at first, and later by virtue of her own charm, she soon became first favourite with her weak and dissolute lord; and when, in April 1856, she crowned his long disappointed ambitions by presenting him with an heir to the Throne, her position was completely assured. At the time of her entering the Palace, the Taiping rebellion was causing great uneasiness at the capital. In March 1853, the rebels took Nanking, the southern capital. Yehonala, who had already made it her business to read, and advise on, all Memorials from the provinces, used her growing influence with the Son of Heaven to secure the appointment of Tseng Kuo-fan as Commander-in-Chief, and to provide him with funds for the raising of train-bands in Hunan, with which, and with the help of General Gordon, Tseng eventually suppressed the rebellion. Thus early she showed her superiority to environment and the fetters of tradition, displaying at a moment of national danger that breadth of mind and quick decision which distinguished her. By all official precedent, Tseng Kuo-fan was not available for service, being in mourning for his mother, but it was ever Yehonala’s opinion that precedents were meant to be subordinate to the State and not the State to precedents, wherein lies the mark of the born ruler.

In August 1855 the widow of Tao-Kuang died and Yehonala, in recognition “of her dutiful ministrations,” was raised to the rank of “P’in,” her colleague Sakota having in the meanwhile become Empress Consort.

It was the common belief of Chinese writers at this time that the reign of Hsien-Feng would witness the end of the Dynasty, which was held to have “exhausted the mandate of Heaven.” All over the Empire rebellion was rife; the sovereign himself was a weak debauchee, incapable of inspiring either loyalty or affection in his people. In the eyes of the literati he was a degenerate, having none of the scholarly tastes which had made his five predecessors famous in history, nor any disposition to follow their example in the compiling of monumental editions of the classics and dictionaries, which have endeared their memory to scholars. It was, moreover, considered ominous that no heir had yet been born to him, though he was now twenty-five, several of his predecessors having provided for the succession before they were fifteen. When, therefore, in April 1856, Yehonala gave birth to a son, and at the same time the rebels were driven from the provinces of Hunan and Kiangsi, it was felt that the tide of evil had turned and that Heaven’s favour once more smiled upon the Throne.

At this period, the health of the Emperor, stricken with paralysis, had completely broken down and Yehonala, by virtue of her position as mother of the Heir Apparent, and even more by reason of her masterful character, became the real ruler of the Empire. Her colleague, the Empress Consort, took little or no active interest in the business of government. In actual rank, Yehonala had risen to the position of a concubine of the first grade “Fei” and was generally known in the metropolis as the “Kuei Fei, Yi,” the last word being her honorific title, meaning “feminine virtue.”

Her advice on foreign affairs at this period was generally of an aggressive character, and the fact is not matter for wonder when we bear in mind her youth, her pride of race and her complete ignorance of foreign countries and their resources. On the return of the special Envoy Ch’i Ying, who had been sent to endeavour to induce Lord Elgin to leave Taku and whose mission had ignominiously failed, it was to the haughty Yehonala that common report credited the Decree which ordered him to be presented with the “silken cord” of self-despatch, as a mark of “the Throne’s benevolent leniency.” To her also was ascribed the Emperor’s refusal to permit the High Commissioner Yeh at Canton to negotiate with the British on trade questions, a decision which led directly to the capture of that city by the foreign barbarian in the following year. In the records left by chroniclers and diarists of that time it is generally noticeable that the Emperor’s opinions and doings are ignored and that all the business of the Imperial City and the Empire had come to depend on the word of Yehonala, a fact in itself sufficiently remarkable in a country where no woman is supposed to rule, and particularly remarkable when we bear in mind that she was at this time only a concubine and twenty-two years of age.

To prevent confusion arising from the several names and titles of the Empress Dowager, it should be explained that her family or clan name of Yehonala was that by which she was known to the world of Peking before and at the time of her selection for the Imperial harem. In the Palace, until her accession to the rank of Empress Mother (Empress of the West), she was still Yehonala, but more usually described as the “Yi” concubine. As co-Regent and Empress Mother, her official designation, Imperially decreed, was Tzŭ Hsi, to which many other honorifics were added. To the mass of the people she was either the Empress Dowager (Huang T’ai Hou) or the Old Buddha, and towards the end of her reign this last affectionately respectful title was universally used in the North.