Yet she insisted she was not well, and when Jung Lu came to ask for audience she refused him, and even when Prince Kung came urging audience she would not yield.
Instead, she summoned her Chief Eunuch and demanded of him, thus: “What does that tyrant of a prince want of me now?”
The Chief Eunuch grinned. He knew well that her illness was a pretense of some sort and that she waited for a purpose that even he did not yet know. “Majesty,” he said, “Prince Kung is much disturbed at the present behavior of the Emperor.”
“And why?” she asked, though she knew well enough.
“Majesty,” the Chief Eunuch said, “all say the Emperor is changed. He spends his days in gaming and in sleep, and far in the night he roams the city streets dressed as a common man, and with him are but two eunuchs and the First Concubine.”
At this the Empress Mother made great show of horror. “The First Concubine? It cannot be!”
She raised herself on her pillows and then fell back and closed her eyes and moaned.
“Oh, I am ill—very ill! Tell the Prince I am like to die because of this evil news. I can do nothing more, tell him. My son is Emperor now and only princes can advise him. He does not hear me. Where is the Board of Imperial Censors? Surely they will advise him.”
And she would not allow audience to Prince Kung.
As for that Prince, he took her words as command, and he did so attack the Emperor face to face that he roused a fury in his imperial nephew, and on the tenth day of the ninth solar month of that same year, the Emperor sent forth a decree signed with his own name and the imperial seal, declaring that Prince Kung and his son, Ts’ai Ch’ing, were stripped of all their ranks, degraded thus because Prince Kung had used unbecoming language before the Dragon Throne.
At this the Empress Mother did rouse herself, and the next day she sent out another edict above her own name and Sakota’s as her co-Regent, commanding all ranks and honors to be restored again to Prince Kung and his son, Ts’ai Ch’ing. This she did alone and without Sakota’s knowledge, knowing that her weak sister-Empress Dowager would not dare to speak a word in protest even at this use of her name. And, such was the honor of her place as Empress Mother, none dared to dispute this edict, and by its firmness she restored herself very much toward power by this seeming favor to Prince Kung, who was of the older generation and much respected by all.
As for the Emperor, before he could decide what next to do he fell ill of black smallpox, caught somewhere in the city when in disguise he went out to amuse himself. In the tenth month, after many days of restless fever while his skin broke out in pox, he lay near to death. The Empress Mother went often to his bedside, for long ago as a small child she had caught the smallpox and it left her immune, without one scar upon her faultless skin. Now she was all mother, and truly so, and she was wrung with strange twisted sorrow. She longed to grieve with her whole heart, as mothers should, and in this grief relieve her secret agony. But she could not be only mother even now. As she had never been mere wife, she was not mere mother. Her destiny was still her burden.
On the twenty-fourth day of that same month, however, the Emperor improved, his fever fell, his tortured skin grew cool, and the Empress Mother sent forth an edict to say the people’s hope could be renewed. On the same day, too, the Emperor sent for the Consort, who till now had been forbidden in his chamber because she was with child. Now that the Emperor’s skin was clear and his fever gone, the imperial physician declared it safe for her to come and she went to him with all speed, for indeed her heart was desolate at these many weeks apart. Her days she had spent in praying at the temple, and her nights were sleepless, nor could she eat. When she entered the royal bedchamber, she was pale and thin, her delicate beauty, so much dependent on her mood and health, was for the moment gone, nor had she stayed to change the gray and unbecoming robe she wore. She entered all impatience, thinking to embrace her love, but on the threshold she was stopped. There by the great bed whereon her lord lay sat the Empress Mother.
“Alas,” Alute murmured, her hands fluttering to her heart.
“And why alas?” the Empress Mother answered sharply. “I do not see alas, when he is so much better. It is you who are alas, for you are as pale and yellow as an old woman. And I take this wrong of you who carry his child inside you. I swear I am angry with you.”
“Mother,” the Emperor pleaded weakly, “I beg you to spare her—”
But Alute could not stop the rush of her own anger. After all these days of waiting and anxiety her usual patience broke. She was not truly patient at best, for she had a strong nature, a mind clear and disciplined, a sense of truth too much for ordinary use.
“Do not spare me,” she said, standing straight and slender in the doorway. “I ask no favor of the Empress Mother. Let her anger fall on me instead of you, my lord, since fall it must, for we cannot please her.” These words came from her narrow lips, each word separate and distinct.
The Empress Mother rose to her feet and sped toward the luckless girl with both her hands upraised, and when she was near enough she slapped Alute’s cheeks again and again until her jeweled nail protectors brought blood.
The Emperor wept aloud upon his bed, from weakness and despair. “Oh, let me die, you two,” he sobbed. “Why should I live when I am caught between you like a mouse between two millstones?”
And he turned his face to the inner wall and could not stop his sobbing. No, though both women flew to his side, and the waiting eunuchs hastened into the bedchamber and though the Empress Mother sent for the Court physicians, none could heal him of his sobbing. He sobbed on and on until he lost his reason and did not know why he sobbed except he could not stop. Suddenly in extreme weakness his pulse faded and ceased to beat. Then the chief physician made obeisance to the Empress Mother, waiting by the bedside in her carved chair.
“Majesty,” he said, sadly, “I fear no human skill can now avail. Evil has seized the destiny of the Son of Heaven, and it is not given to us to know the means to prevent his departure. We, the Court physicians, did fear some such fate, for on the ninth day of the tenth solar month, but two short days ago, two foreigners, Americans, came to our city. They brought with them a large instrument and setting it on the ground, they endeavored to look through its long tube into the sky. At this same moment, Majesty, the evening star was risen in clear radiance, and upon its shining surface we discerned a black spot, something heavier than a shadow. Upon this we drove the foreigners away. Alas, it was too late. Their evil magic was already set upon the star, and we, the Court physicians, looked at each other, fear in every heart. Thus was today’s fate foretold.”
When the Empress Mother heard this, she shrieked that she could not believe it and she summoned Li Lien-ying and screamed at him to know if the tale were true. The Chief Eunuch could but say it was, and he knocked his head upon the tiled floor.
So ended the brief life of the Emperor. When his breath ceased and his flesh grew cold, the Empress Mother sent everyone away, the princes and the ministers who had come as witnesses for death, the eunuchs and the serving men. Even Alute she sent away.
“Go,” she told the young widow. “Leave me with my son.” The gaze she bent upon the young widow was not cruel but desolate and cold, as though the sorrow of the mother was far beyond the sorrow of the wife.
What could Alute then do except obey? Her dead lord’s mother was now her sovereign.
And when all were gone, the Empress sat beside her son and pondered on his life and death. She shed no tears, not yet, for her sorrow must be fulfilled. She thought first of herself and how once more she was supreme in power. Alone she stood above the earth, transcending womanhood, a height unknown before to any human being. In loneliness she looked down upon the face of the son she had borne, a young man’s handsome face, proud in death, and calm. And while she looked the face grew young again, she fancied all the lines away, until she saw a little boy, the child she had adored. The tears welled up as hot as flame and
her heart which had not moved till now, grew soft and quivering, a heart of flesh at last. She sobbed, the tears ran down her cheeks and fell upon the satin coverlet, and she took his dead hand in both her hands and fondled it and laid it against her cheek as she had used to do when he was small. Strange words came welling up like blood from her heart.
“Oh, child,” she sobbed, “would that I had given you the little train—the foreign train—the toy you longed for and you never had!”
Her sorrow centered suddenly and without reason upon this toy she had refused him years ago and she wept on and on, forgetting all she was, except a mother whose only child was dead.
In the night, deep in the night, the hour forgotten, the door opened and a man came in. She leaned upon the bed, still weeping but now silently, and she did not hear the footsteps. Then she felt her shoulders seized and she was lifted strongly to her feet. She turned her head and saw his face.
“You—” she whispered.
“I,” Jung Lu said. “I have waited outside the door these past three hours. Why do you delay? The clans are all astir to put an heir upon the Throne by dawn, before the people know the Emperor is dead. You must act first.”
Within the instant she subdued her heart and made her mind clear to remember a plan she had long ago prepared for such an hour as this.
“My sister’s eldest son is three years old,” she said. “He is the heir I choose. His father is the seventh brother of my own dead lord.”
He met her eyes straightly. They were deadly black against her pale face, but fearless, and her lips were firm.
“Tonight you have a fearful beauty.” His voice was strange and wondering. “You grow more beautiful in danger. Some magic in you—”
She heard and lifted up her head, the sad lips parted, and the tragic eyes grew soft.
“Say on,” she whispered. “Oh, love, say on!”
He shook his head, then gently took her hand. Side by side these two looked down upon the great bed whereon the dead Emperor lay, while their hands clasped. Through his hand she felt him quivering, his body trembling against his will, and she turned toward him.
“Oh, love,” she whispered, “he is our—”
“Hush,” he said. “We may not speak a word of what is past. The palace walls have ears—”
They must not speak, never could they speak, and after one long silent moment they loosed their hands, he stepped back and made obeisance. She was again the Empress and he her subject.
“Majesty,” he said, his voice held low against the listening walls, “go at once and fetch the child. Meanwhile, foreseeing this moment, I have in your name summoned the Viceroy, Li Hung-chang. His armies are already near the city gates. None know it. The horses’ feet are muffled and the men have wooden bits in their mouths to prevent a heedless word. By sunrise you will have the child here in the palace, and your loyal soldiers will crowd the city streets. Who then dares dispute your rule?”
Strong heart met strong heart. These two, in an accord made perfect by their hidden love, parted once more upon their common purpose. Jung Lu was gone, and in that instant the Empress left the bedchamber of the dead. Outside the door the Chief Eunuch waited for her, and when she came he followed, and with him those lesser eunuchs and her ladies who were faithful to her. None asked how Jung Lu had entered the gates of the Forbidden City, where after nightfall no man might enter. In this strange night of turmoil no one asked.
The Empress moved swiftly now to do her will.
“Summon me my sedan,” she commanded Li Lien-ying. “Let no one speak or whisper and bid the bearers wrap their feet in cloth.”
Within minutes she had fastened a cloak about her and, saying not a word to tiring woman or to her ladies, she passed them all and entered into her sedan chair and the curtains were let down. A secret gate behind the palace was opened and waiting for her, and the Chief Eunuch led the way, and thence into the dark and lonely streets. All day the snow had fallen and now it lay deep upon the cobblestones and silenced every footstep and beside the sedan the gaunt giant figure of the Chief Eunuch ran in silence, through falling snow. Thus they came to the palace of Prince Ch’un. The bearers set down the sedan, the Chief Eunuch beat upon the gate and when it opened he forced his way inside, stopping the gateman’s cry with his hand upon the man’s mouth. Behind him came the Empress Mother, her robes flying, and they crossed the many courtyards and entered the house. All were sleeping save the watchman, who stood awed to let the Empress Mother pass.
Ahead of her ran the Chief Eunuch, and he roused the Prince, and then his lady, and they came out, their faces frightened and their garments put on anyhow in haste, and they fell before her in obeisance.
The Empress Mother said, “Sister, I have no time to tell you anything except my son is dead—give me your son to be his heir—”
At this Prince Ch’un cried out:
“Oh, Majesty, I pray you do not take the child to such a fate—”
“How dare you speak so?” the Empress Mother cried. “Is there a greater destiny than to be Emperor?”
“Oh, wretched me,” Prince Ch’un answered. “I, the father, must make obeisance every day before my own son! The generations are confused because of me, and Heaven will punish all my house.”
He wept, he knocked his head upon the tiled floor so diligently that blood ran down his forehead and he fell into a faint.
Yet the Empress Mother would not wait upon him or any man. She pushed him and her sister aside and went swiftly to the child’s nursery and stooped above his bed and lifted him up in her own arms, wrapped in his blankets. He was asleep, and though he whimpered he did not wake and so she bore him away.
But her sister ran after her and seized the end of her flying sleeve.
“The child will cry when he wakes in a strange place,” she pleaded. “Let me come with him at least for a few days.”
“Follow me,” the Empress Mother said across her shoulder. “But do not stop me. I must have him safe within the palace before sunrise.” This she did. The night passed. When the sun rose and the temple priests struck their brass drums for morning prayer, the Court criers went everywhere in the streets and cried the death of the Emperor Mu Tsung, which was T’ung Chih’s dynastic name, and they cried in the next breath a new emperor already upon the Dragon Throne.
In his strange nursery the little Emperor wailed his fright. Not even his mother could quiet him, though she held him continually in her arms. For each time he lifted his head from her breast he saw the carved and gilded dragons crawling on the high beams above his head and he cried in fresh terror and yet he could not keep from looking. At last, when two days had past, his mother sent a eunuch to the Empress Mother to say the child had wept until he was ill.
“Let him weep,” the Empress Mother made reply. She was in her library, working on her palace plans, and she did not turn her head. “Let him learn early that he will have nothing that he wants by weeping, though he be the Emperor.”
Without lifting her head she worked on until the white light of the snowy day came to an end. When she could no longer see she put down her brush and for a long time she sat in meditation. Then she beckoned to a waiting eunuch.
“Fetch me the Consort,” she said. “And bid her come alone.”
The eunuch ran to show his zeal and within minutes Alute came with him and made obeisance. The Empress Mother waved the eunuch off and bade the young widow rise from her knees and sit on a carved stool nearby. There she stared awhile at the young figure, drooping in mourning robes of white sackcloth.
“You have not eaten,” she said at last.
“Venerable Ancestor, I cannot eat,” Alute said.
“There is nothing left in life for you,” the Empress said.
“Nothing, Venerable Ancestor,” Alute said.
“Nor will there ever be,” the Empress Mother continued, “and therefore were I you, I would follow my lord to where he is.”
At this Alute lifted her bowed head a
nd gazed at the stern, beautiful woman who sat so calmly on her thronelike chair. She rose slowly and stood a moment and then sank to her knees again.
“I pray you give me leave to die,” she whispered.
“You have my leave,” the Empress Mother said.
One more long look passed between these two, and then Alute rose and walked toward the open door, a sad young ghost, and the eunuch closed the door behind her.
The Empress Mother sat awhile as motionless as marble, and then she clapped her hands to summon the eunuch.
“Light all the lanterns,” she commanded. “I have my work to do.”
And she took up her brush again. While the night drew on to deeper darkness, she dipped her brush into the colors spread before her and made complete her plan. Then she put down her brush and surveyed the great scroll. The dreaming palaces rose clustering about a wide lake, and gardens bloomed between, and marble bridges spanned the brooks that fed the lake. She smiled to see so fair a picture and after long gazing, suddenly she took up her brush again. She dipped it in her brightest color pots and against the mountain behind the palaces she set a pagoda, tall and slender, whose sides were sky-blue porcelain and whose roofs were gold.
That night at midnight the Chief Eunuch coughed at her door. She rose from her bed and walked silently to open it. He said:
“Alute is no more.”
“How did she die?” the Empress Mother asked.
“She swallowed opium,” he said.
Their eyes met in a long and secret look.
“I am glad there was no pain,” the Empress Mother said.
IV
The Empress
IN THE FOURTH MOON month the wisteria blooms. It was the duty of the Court Chief Gardener to report to the Empress the exact day upon which the vines would blossom and he had so reported. The Empress did then decree that upon this day she would not appear in the Audience Hall, nor would she hear any affairs of state. Instead, she would spend the day in the wisteria gardens and with her ladies, enjoying the color and the fragrance of the flowers and with due courtesy she also invited her cousin the Empress Dowager, since she and Sakota were co-Regents again.