At dawn the rains ceased and the clouds rolled away. She looked from the door of the tent upon a blue sky and valleys green between the bare and rocky hills. As though the night had never been, she spoke courteously to the nurse and to her woman and taking her child’s hand, she led him outside the tent and in the sand she searched for small bright stones to please him.
“I will tie them in my kerchief,” she said, “then you may play with them while we travel.”
Never had she been more calm. Those who saw her remarked her quiet resignation. She did not laugh or smile, for that would be unseemly in a funeral procession, but she seemed comforted and resolute. Nor could anything be said when it was seen by all that the captain’s place had been taken by Jung Lu, and that he was surrounded by twenty of his own men. In such uncertain times no questions could be asked, but all knew that she had won a victory, and each stepped more quickly to do his duty.
When she had eaten, the tents folded and the carts made ready, the journey began again. Beside the Heir and his imperial mother Jung Lu rode on a high white horse, and his men rode with him, ten on each side. Still no question could be asked, nor did Tzu Hsi take notice of the change of guard. She sat silent in her cushioned seat, the curtains parted wide enough to see the landscape, and if any glanced toward her, not once did he see her face turned toward the Commander of the Guard. What her thoughts were who could know?
She was scarcely thinking, her restless mind for once was in repose. These few days of travel were her own, for she was safe. The climax of her struggle, the final battle for the Dragon Throne, must come when she received the imperial catafalque. Traveling now at such steady speed, she would enter the Forbidden City five days before the cortêge. As soon as she reached her palace, she must summon her clansmen and the dead Emperor’s loyal brothers, and they must plan together how to seize the traitors, not by force for then the people would protest, but with order and decorum, proving their wickedness and her own right as Regent on the Heir’s behalf. Beyond the edge of her mind these deeds of state loomed dark and threatening, but she had the trick of taking pleasure when she could, and therefore was refreshed and strong when the hard moment came.
And surely this was pleasure, to ride through the autumn countryside, the dangerous mountains hourly more distant while Jung Lu rode beside her, silent, it was true, and proud, so that they could not speak or look toward each other. But he was there and her life was in his keeping. Thus passed the days. She slept sweetly in the nights and woke hungry in the morning, for the fresh northern air made her blood lively.
On the twenty-ninth day of that ninth month of the moon year, she saw the walls of the capital rise up from the surrounding plains and the gates were open. Inside the city the streets were cleared of folk but Tzu Hsi put down her curtains lest she see a foreign enemy. There were none. The city lay silent in suspense, for news traveled faster than human feet, and the poorest citizen knew that tigers were at war, and victory was not clear. At such times the people wait.
Tzu Hsi had planned her course. She entered the palace in deep mourning, her robes of white sackcloth, and she wore no jewels. Looking not to right or left, she descended from her cart while eunuchs knelt on either side. Then in perfect courtesy she went to Sakota’s cart and helped her to descend, and holding her left hand within her own right, she led her into the palaces they knew so well. Still courteous, she escorted her co-Regent to her Eastern Palace before she went into her own.
Scarcely had an hour passed before she had messages from Prince Kung, by eunuch, who said:
“The Younger Brother Prince Kung asks pardon, for he knows the Empress Mother is weary with grief and travel. Yet so urgent are the affairs of state that he dares not delay, and he bids me say that he is waiting for audience in the Imperial Library, and with him are his brother princes and the noble headmen of the Manchu clans.”
“Tell the Prince I come without delay,” she answered. Without waiting to change her garments or to take food, she went again to Sakota’s palace and entered without ceremony. Her cousin was lying on her bed, her women at her side, one to brush her hair, one with tea, another with her favorite perfume.
Tzu Hsi put them aside, “Sister,” she said, “get up, if you please. We must not rest. We must give audience.”
Sakota pouted, but what she saw in that proud and beautiful face forbade complaint. She sighed and rose, her women put on her outer robes, and leaning on two eunuchs she followed Tzu Hsi to the courtyard where sedans waited. The two ladies were carried swiftly to the Imperial Library and there descending Tzu Hsi took Sakota’s hand and so they entered side by side into the hall. All rose and made obeisance. Then Prince Kung came forward gravely, as befitted his mourning clothes of white sackcloth, and he led the ladies to their thrones and took his place at Tzu Hsi’s right hand.
In secret conference the hours went on. The doors were guarded, and the eunuchs sent to the ends of the vast hall where they could not hear what plans were made.
“Our problem is severe,” Prince Kung said at last. “Nevertheless, we have one great strength. The Empress Mother has the imperial seal in her secret keeping, and this seal alone is worth a mighty army. The legitimate succession is therefore hers as Regent for her son, together with the Empress Dowager of the Eastern Palace as her sister-Regent. Yet we must move with every care and righteousness, with all decorum and propriety. How then shall we seize the traitors? Shall violence be used while the Emperor, no longer ruling, comes to his own funeral scene? There is no precedent for such a course. To battle enemies in the presence of a sacred Ancestor is indeed too impious. The people would not accept such rulers, and the Heir’s reign would begin under an evil cloud.”
All agreed that Prince Kung spoke well, and at last, with much pondering and talking to and fro, it was decided that each step be taken slowly, with caution and dignity, conforming to the high tradition of the dynasty. To this Tzu Hsi agreed, as mother of the Heir and the new reigning Empress, and Sakota bowed her head and did not lift her voice for or against what was said.
Three days passed, and now came the hour for which all waited. Tzu Hsi had spent these days in meditation, planning every moment and every motion of how she would appear and what she would do when the imperial cortêge came to the gates of the capital. She must not show one sign of weakness, and yet she must be faultless in all courtesy. Boldness must combine with dignity and ruthlessness with righteousness.
Hourly through those days couriers came to announce when the catafalque would arrive until on this morning of the second day of the twelfth month of the moon year the last courier declared that the cortêge would come to the East-Flowered Gate of the Forbidden City. Tzu Hsi was prepared. The day before, by her command, Prince Kung had stationed an army of loyal soldiers near this gate, lest the traitorous Three might use the arrival of the dead Emperor to proclaim themselves Regents for the new Emperor. In the palace all was mournful peace. When it was known that the imperial cortêge was near, the Empress Dowagers set forth to meet their dead lord, and with them went the Heir. Through the silent empty streets they went, their sedans covered with white sackcloth and followed by guardsmen in white. Behind them upon horseback came the princes and the heads of the royal clans, all in robes of mourning. The procession went slowly with grieving looks and in silence except that Buddhist priests, who were funeral musicians, played sadly upon their flutes while they led the way for the imperial mourners.
At the mighty gate into the city they halted and all came down from their sedans and their horses to kneel as the huge coffin appeared, carried by its hundred bearers. First and in front of others knelt the Heir, wrapped in white sackcloth. Tears of frightened sorrow streamed down his rosy face. Behind him Tzu Hsi knelt and with her Sakota, Imperial Dowagers. Behind them knelt the princes and the heads of clans and officials, each in his rank. Loud lamentations and sobs and sighs rose into the air, and people listening behind closed doors and windows heard the voices of those who ruled them.
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The three traitors, Prince Yi, Prince Cheng and the Grand Councilor, Su Shun, having performed their duty in bringing the dead Emperor safely home, must finish it by making full report to the Heir, and for this rite a great pavilion had been built inside the gate. There Tzu Hsi now went with her son, and Sakota, silent and shrinking but obedient nevertheless, went with them. The princes and the officials of the court led by two Grand Secretaries gathered around. Tzu Hsi sat at the right hand of the Heir, and on his left Sakota. Without delay, in her calm graceful fashion, as though it was her right, Tzu Hsi began to speak to the traitors.
“We thank you, Prince Yi, Prince Cheng, and Grand Councilor Su Shun, for your faithful care of him we hold most dear. In the name of our new Emperor, the Son of Heaven now ruling, we give you thanks, since we, the two Consorts of the late Emperor, are the duly appointed Regents, by the decree signed by the late Emperor himself. Your duties are now fulfilled and it is our will that you be relieved of further cares.”
This was the meaning of what Tzu Hsi said, and she spoke with every small grace and delicate courtesy, but all understood the immovable will behind the gemlike words.
Prince Yi, hearing, was immediately in severe distress. Above him he saw the handsome child sitting upon the throne, and to one side the helpless Empress Tzu An. On the right hand of the young Emperor sat the true ruler, the beautiful powerful woman who feared no one and by whose charm and strength all were subdued. Behind these stood the princes and the headmen of the royal Manchu clans, and behind these again the Imperial Guard. Prince Yi looked at Jung Lu, standing formidable and fierce, and his heart shook within him. Where was his hope?
Here Su Shun leaned to whisper in his ear, “Had that female fiend been killed early, as I advised, then would we be safe at this hour! But no, you shilly-shallied, you did not dare, you chose a halfway plan, and now our heads are loose upon our shoulders! You are the leader now, and if you fail we die.”
Prince Yi mustered his poor courage therefore and he stepped nearer to the young Emperor and trying boldness, though his lips trembled, he thus addressed the Throne:
“It is we, Most High, who are your appointed Regents. Our Imperial Ancestor, your father, did appoint me and Prince Cheng and the Grand Councilor Su Shun, we three, to act on your behalf. We are your faithful servants, and we pledge our loyalty. As Regents, duly appointed, we hereby decree that the two Consorts have no authority beyond their station, and they are not to be present at audience, except by our permission, as ruling Regents.”
While he spoke these brave words in a trembling voice, the little Emperor looked here and there and yawned and played with the cord that tied his sackcloth garments about his waist. Once he reached for his mother’s hand, but firmly she put his hand back upon his knee, and he obeyed her and sat with his hands upon his knees and waited for the old man to stop talking.
When Prince Yi stepped back, Tzu Hsi did not hesitate. She lifted her right hand and thrusting her thumb downward, she commanded in her clearest voice, “Seize the Three Traitors!”
Immediately Jung Lu strode forward, and with him his guardsmen. They seized the Three and wrapped ropes about them. Those traitors did not move or struggle. Who dared to aid them now? No voice spoke. In dignity and order the funeral procession formed again, the young Emperor following the great catafalque, the Empress Dowagers to right and left, and behind them nobles and princes. Last of all came the traitors, walking in the dust, their faces downcast. For them remained no hope. The streets were lined with loyal soldiers and every eye was on them.
Thus did the Emperor Hsien Feng come home again and thus was he united to his Ancestors. His bier rested in the sacred hall, guarded night and day by his Imperial Guardsmen, and candles burned without ceasing while Buddhist priests prayed his three souls to Heaven and placated his seven earthly spirits by burning incense and chanting many psalms.
And Tzu Hsi, mindful that every act must be confirmed in due order and according to ancient precedent, sent forth an edict and this was its purport: the realm, she declared, had been disturbed too much by enemies, and this was the fault of Prince Yi and his allies, who had brought shame upon their country by tricking the white men. These then became enraged and burned the Summer Palace in revenge. Yet the traitors persisted in their evil, she declared, and they pretended that the late Emperor, before he died, had appointed them as Regents, and taking advantage of the present Emperor’s extreme youth, they had set up themselves in power, disregarding the express wish of the Emperor, no longer ruling, that the two Consorts, the Empress Dowagers, should be the Regents.
“Let Prince Kung,” the edict ended, “in consultation with the Grand Secretaries, the Six Boards and the Nine Ministries, consider and report to the Throne the proper punishment to be inflicted upon these traitors, in proportion to their offences. Let them consider and advise, moreover, how the Empress Dowagers shall act as Regents, and let a memorial be submitted as to procedure.”
To this edict, the Empress Mother affixed the imperial seal. When the edict had gone out to the people, she prepared a second edict to which she set her own name and the co-Regent’s, as Empress Dowagers, and she decreed that the traitors were to be stripped of all their honors and their ranks. Then she sent forth yet another edict, signed this time by her name only, which said:
“Su Shun is guilty of high treason. He has usurped authority. He has accepted bribes and has committed every wickedness. He has used blasphemous language to Ourselves, forgetting the sacred relation between Sovereign and subject. Moreover, he kept his wife and concubines with him while he escorted the Imperial Catafalque from Jehol, and this on his own responsibility, although all know that to allow women the privilege to accompany the Imperial Catafalque is a crime to be punished by death. Therefore We decree that Su Shun shall die by slicing, his flesh to be cut into a thousand thousand strips. His property shall be confiscated, both in the capital and in Jehol, and let no mercy be shown him or his family.”
This decree was bold indeed, for Su Shun was the richest man in the history of the dynasty, except for one Ho Sh’en, who lived in the reign of the Ancestor Ch’ien Lung, and him the Emperor, then ruling, had commanded to be put to death because he had grown rich by theft and usury.
By this edict, Su Shun’s vast wealth was given to the Throne, as Ho Sh’en’s had been in the earlier age. How vast it was none knew, but under Tzu Hsi’s command Su Shun’s libraries were seized, and with them his records of all the treasure in his storehouses. Among these records was found one which made known a thing strange and comforting to her, and it was that Lady Mei was no true daughter of Su Shun. When this was reported to Tzu Hsi she commanded that the record be brought to her, and there she read with her own eyes a private note, appended by some unknown secretary who held a grudge against Su Shun, his employer. Here were the words, written very small, beneath an accounting of certain lands and houses:
“Let it be told here that these properties belonged to a nobleman of the clan of the Plain White Banner. Su Shun, when he had seized this treasure, found in the household of the nobleman, whom he had caused to be put to death on false accusation, one infant, a girl. This girl he took into his own household. She grew up to be the Lady Mei, now in waiting upon the Empress of the Western Palace.”
When Tzu Hsi read these words she sent at once for Lady Mei, and showed her the record. The lady wept awhile, then dried her eyes on her white silk kerchief and she said, “I often wondered why I could not love Su Shun as father. How sinful did I feel! Now I can let down my heart.”
She knelt before Tzu Hsi and thanked her and from that day on she loved her mistress even more faithfully than before.
“For I am orphaned,” she said, “and you, Venerable, are my mother and my father.”
With all her vengeance against Su Shun, Tzu Hsi could not be content. She pursued her vengeance and placed her decrees before the princes, ministers and members of the Boards and they bowed their heads. Prince Kung alone dared to
raise his voice.
“Majesty,” he said, “it would become the Empress Dowagers to show some mercy in the manner in which Su Shun is to die. Let him be beheaded rather than sliced.”
None dared to lift his eyes to see Tzu Hsi’s face, stern and beautiful, when she heard these words. She heard against her wish, all knew, for minutes passed before she answered.
“Let it be by our mercy, then,” she said at last, “but the beheading shall be public.”
So it came about that Su Shun’s head was cut off in the marketplace of the city. It was a fair and sunny morning, and the people made a holiday to come and see him die. He walked bravely before the throng, villain though he was, his head held high and his bold face unmoved. Proud to the end he laid his head upon the block and the headsman lifted up the broadsword and brought it down. With this single blow, Su Shun’s head was severed from his body, and when it rolled into the dust, the people howled with joy, for he had injured many.
The Empress Mother had commanded the Princes Jui and Liang to stand by to see the head roll off and they reported to the Throne that Su Shun was dead indeed.
Since the Princes Yi and Cheng belonged to the Imperial House, these two were not beheaded but were ordered to the Empty Chamber, which was the prison of the Imperial Court, and there were told to hang themselves. And Jung Lu gave to each a silken rope, and he stood by, and each did hang himself upon a beam, one at the south end of the Chamber and the other at the north. Prince Cheng died resolutely and at once, but Prince Yi took long to get his courage up until, weeping and sobbing, he forced himself at last.
So died the Three, and those who had hoped to rise with them were sent in exile. From this day on Tzu Hsi assumed publicly the tide of Empress Mother, which the dying Emperor in Jehol had bestowed upon her. Thus began the reign of the young Emperor but all knew that whatever her propriety and her courtesy to all, the Empress Mother reigned supreme.