Court Life in China: The Capital, Its Officials and People

by Isaac Taylor Headland

If you will go with me at midnight to the great gate which leads from the Tartar to the Chinese city—the Chien men—you will hear the wailing creak of its hinges as it swings open, and in a few moments the air will be filled with the rumbling of carts and the clatter of the feet of the mules on the stone pavement, as they take the officials into the audiences with their ruler. If you will remain with me there till a little before daylight you will see them, like silent spectres, sitting tailor-fashion on the bottom of their springless carts, returning to their homes, but you will ask in vain for any information as to the business they have transacted. "They love darkness rather than light," not perhaps "because their deeds are evil," but because it has been the custom of the country from time immemorial.

Immediately to the north of this row of imperial palace buildings, and just outside the north gate, there is an artificial mound called Coal Hill, made of the dirt which was removed to make the Lotus Lakes. It is said that in this hill there is buried coal enough to last the city in time of siege. This, however, was not the primary design of the hill. It has a more mysterious meaning. There have always been spirits in the earth, in the air, in every tree and well and stream. And in China it has ever been found necessary to locate a house, a city or even a cemetery in such surroundings as to protect them from the entrance of evil spirits. "Coal Hill," therefore, was placed to the north of these imperial palace buildings to protect them from the evil spirits of the cold, bleak north.

Just inside of that north gate there is a beautiful garden, with rockeries and arbours, flowering plants and limpid artificial streams gurgling over equally artificial pebbles, though withal making a beautiful sight and a cool shade in the hot summer days. In the east side of this garden there is a small imperial shrine having four doors at the four points of the compass. In front of each of these doors there is a large cypress-tree, some of them five hundred years old, which were split up from the root some seven or eight feet, and planted with the two halves three feet apart, making a living arch through which the worshipper must pass as he enters the temple. To the north of the garden and east of the back gate there is a most beautiful Buddhist temple, in which only the members of the imperial family are allowed to worship, in front of which there is also a living arch like those described above, as may also be found before the imperial temples in the Summer Palace. This is one of the most unique and mysterious features of temple worship I have found anywhere in China, and no amount of questioning ever brought me any explanation of its meaning.

Now if you will go with me to the top of Coal Hill I will point out to you the buildings in which their Majesties have lived. There are six parallel rows of buildings, facing the south, each behind the other, in the northwest quarter of this Forbidden City, protected from the evil spirits of the north by the dagoba on Prospect Hill.

Perhaps you would like to go with me into these homes of their Majesties—or, as a woman's home is always more interesting than the den of a man, let me take you through the private apartments of the greatest woman of her race—the late Empress Dowager. She occupied three of these rows of buildings. The first was her drawing-room and library, the second her dining-room and sleeping apartments, and the third her kitchen.

One was strangely impressed by what he saw here. There was no gorgeous display of Oriental colouring, but there was beauty of a peculiarly penetrating quality—and yet a homelike beauty.

No description that can be written of it will ever do it justice. Not until one can see and appreciate the paintings of the old Chinese masters of five hundred years ago hanging upon the walls, the beautiful pieces of the best porcelain of the time of Kang Hsi and Chien Lung, made especially for the palace, arranged in their natural surroundings, on exquisitely carved Chinese tables and brackets, the gorgeously embroided silk portieres over the doorways, and the matchless tapestries which only the Chinese could weave for their greatest rulers, can we appreciate the beauty, the richness, and the refined elegance of the private apartments of the great Dowager.

I went into her sleeping apartments. Others also entered there, sat upon her couch, and had their friends photograph them. I could not allow myself to do so. I stood silent, with head uncovered as I gazed with wonder and admiration at the bed, with its magnificently embroidered curtains hanging from the ceiling to the floor, its yellow-satin mattress ten feet in length and its great round, hard pillow, with the delicate silk spreads turned back as though it were prepared for Her Majesty's return. On the opposite side of the room there was a brick kang bed, such as we find in the homes of all the Chinese of the north, where her maids slept, or sat like silent ghosts while the only woman that ever ruled over one-third of the human race took her rest. The furnishings were rich but simple. No plants, no intricate carvings to catch the dust, nothing but the two beds and a small table, with a few simple and soothing wall decorations, and the monotonous tick-tock of a great clock to lull her to sleep.

If Shakespeare could say with an English monarch in his mind, "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," we might repeat it with added emphasis of Tze Hsi. For forty years she had to rise at midnight, winter as well as summer, and go into the dark, dreary, cold halls of the palace, lighted much of the time with nothing but tallow dips, and heated only with brass braziers filled with charcoal, and there sit behind a screen where she could see no one, and no one could see her, and listen to the reports of those who came to these dark audiences. Then she must, in conjunction with them, compose edicts which were sent out to the Peking Gazette, the oldest and poorest newspaper in the world, to be carved on blocks, and printed, and then sent by courier to every official in the empire. Ruling over a conquered race, she must always be watching out for signs of discontent and rebellion; being herself the daughter of a poor man, and beginning as only the concubine of an emperor, and he but a weak character, she must be alert for dissatisfaction on the part of the princes who might have some title to the throne. She must watch the governors in the distant provinces and the viceroys who are in charge of great armies, that they do not direct them against instead of in defense of the throne.

When her husband died while a fugitive two hundred miles from her palace, she must see to it that her three-year-old child was placed upon the throne with her own hand at the helm, and when he died she must also be ready with a successor, who would give her another lease of office. Even when he became of age and took the throne she must watch over him like a guardian, to prevent his bringing down upon their own heads the structure which she had builded. Nay, more, when it became necessary for her to dethrone him and rule in his name, banishing his friends and pacifying his enemies, keeping him a prisoner in his palace, it required a courage that was titanic to do so. But she never flinched, though we may suppose that many of her poorest subjects, who could sleep from dark till daylight with nothing but a brick for a pillow, might have rested more peacefully than she.