Empress Orchid (29 page)

Tung Chih was brought in by Nuharoo for dinner. Despite the weather he looked like a snowball, wrapped in a white fur coat. He was being fed pigeon meat with a slice of steamed bread. He seemed cheerful and was playing a rope game with An-te-hai called Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down. Lying on his bed, Hsien Feng watched his son. He smiled and encouraged the child to challenge the eunuch. I saw an opportunity to speak.

“Your Majesty?” I tried not to sound argumentative. “Don’t you think the nation’s spirit will collapse if its Emperor … is absent?” I avoided the word “deserts.” “A dragon needs a head. An empty capital will encourage looting and destruction. Emperor Chou Wen-wang of the Han Dynasty chose to abscond during his kingdom’s crisis, and the result was that he lost his people’s respect.”

“How dare you make this comparison!” Emperor Hsien Feng spat tea leaves on the floor. “I have decided to leave for the security of my family, you included.”

“I think demonstrating the court’s strength to the people is crucial to China’s survival,” I said softly.

“I don’t feel like talking about this right now.” His Majesty called his son over and started to play with him. Tung Chih ran by laughing, eventually hiding under a chair.

I ignored Nuharoo, who was gesturing with her hands for me to quit. I continued, “Tung Chih’s grandfather and great-grandfather would have stayed if they faced this situation.”

“But they weren’t given the situation!” Hsien Feng exploded. “I re-
sent them. It was they who left this mess to me. When the first Opium War was lost in 1842, I was just a boy. I inherited nothing but trouble. All I can think of these days are the indemnities I am forced to pay. Eight million taels to each country! How could I possibly satisfy that?”

We argued until he ordered me to go back to my living quarters. His last words remained in my head all night long. “Another word out of you, and you will be rewarded with a rope to hang yourself!”

Nuharoo invited me for a walk in her garden. She said that her bushes, withered by some blight, had attracted a rare kind of butterfly.

I told her that I was in no mood for butterflies.

“They might be moths. Anyway, they are pretty.” Paying no attention to me, she went on. “Let’s go and catch butterflies. Forget about the barbarians.”

We got into our separate palanquins. I wished that I could make myself enjoy Nuharoo’s invitation, but in the middle of the outing I changed my mind. I ordered my bearers to carry me to the Hall of Luminous Virtue. I sent a messenger to Nuharoo and asked for forgiveness, saying that the Emperor’s decision to desert the capital weighed too heavily on my mind.

In the hallway I ran into all my brothers-in-law: Prince Kung, Prince Ch’un and Prince Ts’eng. Prince Ch’un told me that they had come to persuade His Majesty to remain in Peking. For that I was glad and became hopeful.

I waited in the garden until tea was served before entering. I went inside and sat down by Emperor Hsien Feng. I noticed other guests. Besides the princes, Su Shun and his half-brother Tuan Hua were also there. For the past two days Su Shun and Tuan had been making arrangements for the Emperor to go to Jehol. Beyond the walls, the sound of carriages coming and going had become constant.

“I gave up Peking because I have not heard any news from General Sheng Pao!” Hsien Feng argued. “The rumors say that he has been captured. If that is the case, the barbarians will reach my courtyard in no time.”

“Your Majesty!” Prince Kung fell from his chair to the ground. “Please don’t desert!”

“Your Majesty.” Prince Ts’eng, the fifth brother, also on his knees, lined himself up next to Prince Kung. “Will you stay for a few more days? I shall lead the Bannermen to battle the barbarians myself. Give
us a chance to honor you. Without you …” Ts’eng was so overcome he had to stop for a moment. “… there will be no spirit.”

“The Emperor has made up his mind,” Hsien Feng announced coldly.

Prince Ch’un went to kneel between Prince Kung and Prince Ts’eng. “Your Majesty, deserting the throne will encourage the barbarians’ madness. It will make future negotiation much more difficult.”

“Who says I am deserting the throne? I am only going hunting.”

Prince Kung laughed bitterly. “Any child on the street will say ‘The Emperor is running away.’”

“How dare you!” Emperor Hsien Feng kicked a eunuch who came to serve him medicine.

“For the sake of your health, Your Majesty, pardon us.” Prince Ts’eng grabbed the Emperor by the legs. “Allow me to bid farewell, then. I am going to expose myself to the cannons.”

“Stop being silly.” Hsien Feng rose and helped Prince Ts’eng back to his feet. “My brother, once I am out of reach, I can pursue a more consistent policy on the battlefield.” He turned to Su Shun. “Let us go before the sky lightens.”

The determination of Kung, Ch’un and Ts’eng made me proud of being Manchu. I was not surprised at Hsien Feng’s cowardice. Losing the Taku forts had broken him, and he now merely wanted to slip away and hide.

In Hsien Feng’s dressing room Su Shun came forward. “We must hurry, Your Majesty. It will take several days to get to Jehol.”

Su Shun’s half-brother Tuan came in. He was a skinny man with a long and crooked neck, which made his head tilt to one side. “Your Majesty,” he said, “here is the list of things we have packed for you.”

“Where are my seals?” the Emperor asked.

“They have been taken from the Hall of the Blending of Great Creative Forces and properly chambered.”

“Orchid,” Hsien Feng said, “go and check on the seals.”

“Your Majesty, there is no need,” Su Shun said.

Ignoring Su Shun, Emperor Hsien Feng turned to Prince Kung, who had entered the room. “Brother Kung, you’re not dressed to travel. You are coming with me, aren’t you?”

“No, I am afraid not,” Prince Kung replied. He was dressed in an official blue robe with yellow trim on the sleeves and collar. “Someone has to stay in the capital and deal with the Allies.”

“What about Ts’eng and Ch’un?”

“They have decided to stay in Peking with me.”

The Emperor sat down and his eunuchs tried to put on his boots. “Prince Ch’un will have to guard me on the journey to Jehol.”

“Your Majesty, I am begging you for the last time to consider remaining in Peking.”

“Su Shun,” Emperor Hsien Feng called impatiently, “prepare a decree to authorize Prince Kung as my spokesman.”

What to take to Jehol had become a problem for me. I wanted to take everything, because I had no idea when I would return. Yet the most valuable things were not portable. I had to leave behind my paintings, wall-sized embroideries, carvings, vases and sculptures. Each concubine was allowed one carriage for her valuables, and mine was already filled. I hid the rest of my cherished things wherever I could—on top of a beam, behind a door, buried in the garden. I hoped that no one would discover them until I returned.

Nuharoo refused to leave any of her belongings behind. As the chief Empress she was entitled to three carriages, but they were not enough. She loaded the rest of her things into Tung Chih’s carriages. Tung Chih had ten, and Nuharoo took seven of them.

My mother was too ill to travel, so I made arrangements for her to move to a quiet village outside Peking. Kuei Hsiang was to be with her. Rong would also stay behind.

At ten o’clock in the morning the Imperial wheels started to roll. Emperor Hsien Feng wouldn’t leave without a ceremony. He sacrificed livestock and bowed to the gods of Heaven. When his palanquin passed the last gate of the Grand Round Garden, Yuan Ming Yuan, officials and eunuchs threw themselves on their knees, kowtowing farewell. The Emperor sat inside with his son. Tung Chih told me later that his father wept.

The Imperial household stretched for three miles. It looked like a festival parade. Firecrackers were thrown into the sky to “shock away bad omens.” The ceremonial guards carried yellow dragon flags while the palanquin bearers carried the Imperial families. The nobles walked in columns. Behind us were incense burners, monks, lamas, eunuchs, ladies in waiting, servants, guards and royal animals. The crowd was followed by a band with drums and gongs and the entire kitchen on legs. Near the tail of the line were dressing rooms on legs and chamber pots on legs. Footmen guided the horses and donkeys that carried fire-
wood, meat, rice and vegetables in deep baskets along with kitchen utensils such as pots and woks. At the rear were seven thousand cavalrymen, led by Yung Lu.

As we passed the last gate, my eyes were blurred with tears. Shops along the streets were abandoned. Families ran like headless hens, carrying their possessions on donkeys and on their backs. The news of Emperor Hsien Feng’s desertion had sent the city into chaos.

A few hours later I asked that my son be brought to me. I sat him on my lap and held him tight. To him this was just another outing. As the palanquin rocked, he fell asleep. I ran my fingers through his soft black hair and fixed his queue. I wished that I could teach Tung Chih how to be strong. I wanted him to know that one should never take peace for granted. He was cosseted by servants, used to seeing beautiful women at his bedside. It pained me to hear Tung Chih say that he wanted to grow up to be just like his father—with beauties as his playmates.

A few days before, a case of theft in the Forbidden City had been reported. No one confessed to the crime, and there were no obvious suspects. I was put in charge of the investigation. I sensed that the eunuchs were involved, because someone had to move the valuables. The maids couldn’t go outside the gates without permits. I also suspected members of the royal family. They knew where the valuables were.

As the investigation went on, my suspicions were proven correct. Apparently the concubines had colluded with the eunuchs to split the profits. Ladies Mei, Hui and Li were found to be involved. Hsien Feng was furious, and he ordered them thrown out of their palaces. It was Nuharoo and I who talked him out of his rage. “It is a terrible time to expect nobility from everyone,” we said. “Haven’t we had enough embarrassment?”

Sitting inside the palanquin all day made my joints ache. I thought of the people who were walking on their blisters. After we got out of Peking, the road became bumpier and dustier. We stopped at a village for the night, and I met with Nuharoo. I was surprised by the way she had dressed. She looked like she was going to a party. She carried an ivory fan and a small incense burner. Her robe was made of golden satin embroidered with Buddhist symbols.

For the entire trip Nuharoo wore the same robe. It took me a while to realize that she was more than terrified. “In case we are attacked and I am killed,” she said, “I want to be sure to enter my next life in proper dress.”

It didn’t make sense to me. If we were attacked, her robe would be the first thing anyone would rob. She might end up being naked in her next life. I had heard back in Wuhu that tomb robbers would chop off a dead person’s head for what was around the neck, and hands for what was on the fingers.

I made sure to dress as plainly as possible. Nuharoo told me that my dress, which I took from an elderly maid, disgraced my status. Her words made me feel safer. When I tried to dress Tung Chih the same way, Nuharoo became upset. “For Buddha’s sake, he is the Son of Heaven! How dare you dress him like a beggar!” She took off Tung Chih’s plain cotton robe and changed him into a gold-laced robe, one with symbols that matched hers.

The villagers didn’t know what was going on; the bad news from Peking hadn’t reached them. They certainly couldn’t tell that disaster was near from the way Nuharoo and Tung Chih dressed. They were simply honored that we chose to stop in their village for the night, and served us steaming-hot whole wheat buns and vegetable soup.

Messengers sent by Prince Kung came and went. There was one bit of good news amid all the bad. An influential foreign officer named Parkes, along with another named Loch, had been captured. Prince Kung was using them as leverage for negotiations. The last messenger reported that the Allies had taken the Forbidden City, the Summer Palace and Yuan Ming Yuan. “The Allied commander is living in Your Majesty’s bedroom with a Chinese prostitute,” the messenger reported.

His Majesty’s pale face was dripping with sweat. He opened his mouth but was unable to utter a word. A few hours later he coughed up a bolus of blood.

SPEAK!” Emperor Hsien Feng ordered the eunuch who had been in charge of security in Yuan Ming Yuan. The eunuch had been sent by his senior, who had committed suicide after failing in his duty.

“It began on October fifth.” The eunuch made an effort to calm his quavery voice. “It was cloudy in the morning. The palace was quiet and there was no sign that anything was unusual. By noon it started to rain. The guards asked me if they could go inside. I gave them permission. We were all very tired … It was then that I heard the cannons. I thought I was dreaming and so did the guards. One even claimed that he had heard thunder. But in a moment we smelled smoke. A short while later a guard ran to tell us that the barbarians were at the Gate of High Virtue and the Gate of Peace. My senior asked what had happened to General Seng-ko-lin-chin’s troops. The guard answered that the barbarians had captured them … We now knew that we were without protection.

“My senior ordered me to guard the Garden of Happiness, the Garden of Clear Rippling Waters, the Garden of Still Moon, and the Garden of Bright Sunshine while he himself went to guard the Garden of Evergreen and the Garden of June. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do this. How could fewer than a hundred protect gardens that stretched for twenty miles?

“While we rushed to hide the furniture, the barbarians appeared in the garden. I instructed my people to drop the lesser valuables and bury
the important ones. But we couldn’t dig fast enough. I buried what I could, including the great clock and the moving universe, and others threw in scrolls.

“As we dragged the bags out, we were confronted by the barbarians. They fired on us. The guards fell one after another. Those who weren’t shot were captured and were later thrown into the lake. The barbarians tied me to the bronze crane near the fountain. They slashed open our bags and were thrilled to discover the treasure. Their pockets were too small to fit everything, so they pulled out Your Majesty’s robes and turned them into sacks. They filled them and hung them around their shoulders and waists. They grabbed what they could take and destroyed what they couldn’t. They fought among themselves over the spoils.

“The barbarians who arrived later tried to move what remained. They dismantled Your Majesty’s astrological bronze animals but not the giant gold jar, which was too heavy to move. Eventually they scraped off all the decorative gold from the columns and beams with knives. The looting continued for two days. The barbarians broke through walls and dug up the grounds.”

“What did they find?” I asked.

“Everything, my lady. I saw one barbarian walk past the fountain wearing your ceremonial robe.”

I tried not to picture the scene as the eunuch went on to describe the ransacking of the rest of Yuan Ming Yuan. But my mind’s eye vividly saw the barbarians marching into the Apricot Village, the Peony Pavilion and the Lotus Leaf Teahouse. I could see their faces glow as they rushed through the golden, richly carved halls of the central buildings. I could see them enter my room and ransack my drawers. I could see them break into my storage chamber where I had hidden my jade, silver and enamel, paintings, embroideries and trinkets.

“… There was too much to take, so the barbarians stripped the marble-sized pearls from Empress Nuharoo’s robes and emptied Her Majesty’s diamond cases …”

“Where was Prince Kung?” Emperor Hsien Feng was sliding off his chair and trying hard to push himself back up.

“Prince Kung was working outside of Peking. He struck a deal with the barbarians by releasing their captured officials, Parkes and Loch. But it was too late to stop the looting. To cover their crime, the foreign devils … Your Majesty, I can’t … say it …” The eunuch crashed to the floor as if he no longer had a spinal cord.

“Say it!”

“Yes, Your Majesty. The devils … set fire …”

Emperor Hsien Feng shut his eyes. He struggled for breath. His neck twisted as if it was in the grip of a ghost.

On October 13, the barbarians set fire to more than two hundred pavilions, halls and temples, and the grounds of five palaces. The flames consumed everything. Smoke and ash were carried by the wind over the walls. An acrid dense cloud hung above the city, eventually settling in people’s hair, eyes, clothes, beds and bowls. Nothing survived in Yuan Ming Yuan except the marble pagoda and the stone bridge. Among the thousands of acres of gardens, the only building left standing was the Pavilion of Precious Clouds, high on a hill above the lake.

I would later learn from Prince Kung about the “thunder-like sound” people described. It was not the sound of thunder but of explosives. The British Royal Engineers had placed dynamite charges in many of our pavilions.

For the rest of my life, my mind would return to this scene of magnificence suddenly transformed into crumbling piles of masonry. Miles and miles of flames swallowing six thousand dwellings—the palace of my body and soul, along with treasures and works of art collected by generations of emperors.

Hsien Feng had to live with this shame, which eventually ate him up. In my old age, whenever I tired of working or thought of quitting, I would go and visit the ruins of Yuan Ming Yuan. The moment I stepped among the broken stones, I could hear the barbarians cheering. The image would choke me as if the smoke still hung in the air.

A brassy sun peered down upon the moving festival. We continued our long journey to Jehol. I was bitter and sad when I thought about my husband’s “hunting” excuse. In marvelous clothing the ministers and princes were borne in richly decorated palanquins on the shoulders of toiling bearers while guards patrolled on Mongolian ponies.

The chanting of the chair bearers had been replaced by a deep and tortured silence. I no longer heard the slap and slither of sandaled feet over the loose stones. Instead I saw the pain from blisters etched into the lines of grimy sweat-washed faces. Even though we had entered the wild country, everyone remained concerned about the barbarians’ possible pursuit. The procession grew longer each day. It was like a gaudily colored snake winding its way along a narrow road.

At night, tents were pitched and bonfires lit. The people slept like an army of the dead. Emperor Hsien Feng spent most of his time in si-
lence. Occasionally when his fever rose, he would speak beyond the ordinary.

“Who can guarantee that all the seeds of nature will be pure and healthy and that their blooms will create a picture of harmony in the garden?” he asked.

Unable to answer, I stared back at him.

“I am talking about bad seeds,” His Majesty continued. “Seeds that have been secretly soaked in poison. They lay sleeping in fertile soil until the spring rain wakes them. They grow to enormous size at an amazing speed, covering the ground and taking water and sun from others. I can see their fat flowers. Their branches expand like bullies spreading poison. Don’t let Tung Chih out of your sight, Orchid.”

I held Tung Chih while we slept. In my dreams I heard horses champing at the bit. Fear woke me like a strange attack. Sweat would gather and soak my shirt. My scalp was constantly wet. My senses became heightened to certain things, like Tung Chih’s breath and the noises around the tent, and deadened to others, like hunger. Though we stayed in separate tents, Emperor Hsien Feng would appear in front of me like a ghost in the middle of the night. He stood there in dry-eyed misery. I wondered if I was also losing my mind.

It was close to evening and we decided to break for a meal. That afternoon His Majesty had experienced a terrifying coughing fit. Blood drooled from the corners of his mouth. The doctor said that it was bad for him to ride in the palanquin. But we had no choice. Eventually we stopped in order to still his cough.

At dawn I looked out from the tent. We were close to Jehol, and the landscape was of extraordinary beauty. The ground was covered with clover and wildflowers, and the gentle hills were thick with brush. The autumn heat was tolerable compared to Peking. The fragrance of mountain dandelions was sweet. After the morning meal we were on the road again. We passed through fields where the grass was waist-high.

Whenever Tung Chih was with me I tried to be strong and cheerful. But it wasn’t easy. When the old palaces of Jehol appeared on the horizon, we all rolled out of the palanquins and got down on our knees. We thanked Heaven we had made it to this place of temporary refuge. The moment Tung Chih was lifted from the chair he took off after wild rabbits and squirrels, which skittered away from him.

We hurried to reach the great gates. It was like entering a dream-
land, a scene from a faded painting. Hsien Feng’s grandfather Chien Lung had built Jehol in the eighteenth century. Today the palace stood like an aged beauty whose makeup was smeared. I had heard so much about this place that the view was already familiar to me. Jehol was more of a work of nature than the Forbidden City. Over the years the trees and bushes had grown into each other. Ivy had spread from wall to wall and up the sky-high trees, where it dangled in luxuriant vines. The furniture in the palaces was made of hardwood, exquisitely carved pieces inlaid with jade and stones. The dragons on the ceiling panels were of pure gold, the walls resplendent in shimmering silk.

I adored the wildness. I wouldn’t have minded living in Jehol. I thought it would be a good place to raise Tung Chih. He could learn the Bannermen’s trade. He could learn to hunt. I wanted so much for him to grow up on horseback as his ancestors did. I wished I didn’t have to remind myself that we were in exile.

Jehol was a great silent place. The bleached light of the sun reflected softly from its tiled roofs. The courtyards were paved with cobblestones. Doors were flanked by thick walls. Since Chien Lung’s death half a century before, most of the palaces had stood vacant and they smelled of mold. Battered by decades of wind and rain, the exteriors seemed to fade into the landscape. The original color had been sand yellow; now it was brown and green. Inside, mildew covered the ceilings and darkened the corners of the spacious rooms.

The royal families swept into Jehol and the place came to life. The slumbering halls, courtyards and buildings were wakened to the echo of human voices and footfalls. Doors were pushed open to the sound of scraping wood and metal. Rusty window locks broke off when we attempted to open them. The eunuchs did their best to remove the must and grime of years.

I was given an apartment next to Nuharoo’s on one side of the main palace. The Emperor occupied the largest bedroom, of course, right in the middle. His office, which was called the Hall of Literary Zest, was next to the apartments of Su Shun and the other grand councilors on the other side of the palace. Nuharoo watched over Tung Chih while I attended Hsien Feng. Our schedules and responsibilities now ran according to the needs of the father and the son.

Since His Majesty had stopped giving audiences, he was no longer presented documents to review or sign. The court’s business continued to be managed solely by Su Shun. Brewing herbs for Hsien Feng had become my job. The bitter smell was so strong that he complained. I
had to tell the servants to take the pots to the kitchen, which was at the far end of the palace. I worked with the herbalist and Doctor Sun Paotien to make sure that the medicine was properly prepared. It wasn’t easy. One of the prescriptions required that the soup be mixed with fresh deer blood, which spoiled quickly. The kitchen staff had to slaughter a deer every two days, immediately prepare the medicine, then hope that His Majesty wouldn’t throw up right after we poured it down his throat.

In late October the maple trees looked like they were set to burning by the sun. One morning when Nuharoo and I took Tung Chih for a walk we discovered that a nearby spring was surprisingly warm. A eunuch who had guarded the palaces all his life said that there were several hot springs in the area. It was how Jehol got its name:
je-hol,
hot river.

“The spring gets hotter when it snows,” the eunuch said. “You can feel the water with your hand.” Tung Chih was curious and insisted on bathing in the spring. Nuharoo was about to give in, but I opposed the idea. Tung Chih didn’t know how to swim and had just recovered from a cold. Resenting my discipline, he turned to Nuharoo, pouting. My son knew that Nuharoo outranked me and that I was not allowed to disobey her. It had become a pattern with Nuharoo, my son and me. It was irritating and left me feeling defenseless. The kitchen became my place of escape.

Hsien Feng’s health seemed to have stabilized a little. As soon as he was able to sit up, Prince Kung sent him drafts of the treaties. I was summoned to help.

“Your brother expects you to honor the terms,” I said, summarizing Prince Kung’s letter to His Majesty. “He says that these are the final documents. Peace and order will be restored after you sign.”

“The barbarians are asking me to reward them for spitting in my face,” Hsien Feng said. “I now understand why my father wouldn’t close his eyes when he died—he couldn’t swallow the insult.”

I waited for him to calm down before I resumed reading. Some of the terms disturbed His Majesty so much that he gasped for air. Bubbling sounds would come from his throat and then he would burst out coughing.

Tiny blood spots covered the floor and the blankets. I didn’t want to go on reading, but the documents had to be returned within ten days. If not, Prince Kung said, the Allies would destroy the capital.

It was no use for Emperor Hsien Feng to beat his chest and shout,
“All foreigners are brute beasts!” It was also no use to issue edicts urging the army to fight harder. The situation was irreversible.

Tung Chih watched his father drag himself out of bed and get down on his knees to beg Heaven for help. Again and again Hsien Feng wished he had the courage to take his own life.

It was in the Hall of Literary Zest where the treaties with France and Great Britain were sealed. Both treaties continued to validate the previous Tientsin Treaty, but with items added. It was the first time in several thousand years that China had borne such shame.

Emperor Hsien Feng was forced to open the city of Tientsin as a new trading port. To him this not only allowed the barbarians to trade in his front yard, but also permitted their military access to the capital through the open sea. His Majesty was also forced to “rent” Kowloon to the British as war compensation. The treaties stated that Western missionaries were to be given total freedom and protection to operate in China, which included building churches. Chinese laws would not apply to any foreigners, and violations of the treaties by any Chinese were to be punished swiftly. China was made to pay indemnities of eight million taels to the British and the French.