China under the Empress Dowager

by J. O. P. Bland; Sir E. Backhouse

The causes and history of the invasion of North China by the allied forces of England and France are too well known to need re-stating here, but the part played by Yehonala in the stirring days which preceded and followed the flight to Jehol are not familiar to European readers. Most interesting details are given on this subject by a certain Doctor of Letters and member of the Hanlin Academy, whose diary was printed privately in narrative form several years later, and from this document the following extracts are taken. It was originally entitled “A Record of Grief Incurable” and, as will be noted, it is primarily a monument of filial piety, into which the doings of the barbarians, and the already dominant personality of Yehonala, are artlessly interwoven, with a certain quality of sincerity that attracts. The narrative itself is full of human interest.

“In the 7th Moon of the ‘Keng Shen’ year (August 1860), five or six days after my mother fell sick, rumours began to circulate that the barbarians had already reached Taku. It was generally known that many Memorials had reached the Throne from the metropolitan and provincial officials, but as no mention of them had appeared in the Gazette, it was only natural that there should be a very widespread feeling of uneasiness and many alarming rumours. So far, however, there had been no fleeing from the city. His Majesty was seriously ill, and it was known that he wished to leave for the north, but the Imperial Concubine Yi and Prince Seng dissuaded him from this and assured him that the barbarians would never enter the city.

“At this time my mother was suffering from dysentery, but she ordered the servants to keep it from me. It was only one day, when I noticed a prescription lying on her table, that I realised that she was indeed seriously ill. Doctor Liu was in attendance, as usual, but I never had any confidence in him or his methods, which seemed to me far too drastic. Nevertheless he had advised and attended her for seven years, and my mother and all her household placed implicit confidence in him. Alas, the Ancients have rightly said that a good son should know something of the principles of medicine, and surely my ignorance has been the first cause of my mother’s death. Though I should give up my life a hundred times, how can I ever atone for this?

“During the next few days, people began to leave Peking, for the report was spread that our troops had been defeated at Taku, and that a Brigadier General was among the slain; the garrison had fled from Pei T’ang and the forts were in the hands of the barbarians. Prince Seng had been ordered by Edict not to fight a pitched battle, so that our forces were idly confronting the enemy. Nothing definite was known as to the real cause of our defeat, and the people, being kept in ignorance, gradually got over their first alarm.

“On the 13th of the 7th Moon, I noticed a change for the worse in my mother’s condition, and straightway applied for ten days’ leave of absence from my official duties. I kept her ignorant of the political situation and urged her to abstain from worry of every kind. But every-day the news was worse, and people began to leave the city in thousands.

“On the following day, Magistrate Li Min-chai looked in to say good-bye, as he was leaving to join the troops in Anhui. He expressed strong disapproval of Dr. Liu’s prescription and gave me one of his own. My mother was averse to taking his medicine, but I persuaded her to do so. In the night she was suddenly seized with shortness of breath, and hastily I sent for Mr. Li, who assured me that this was in no way due to his medicine. My mother, however, insisted upon returning to Dr. Liu’s prescription, so all I could do was to urge him to compound it of drugs less strong and more suited to a patient of my mother’s advanced years.

“My mother then bade me to prepare her coffin as she was certain that her death was near. Fortunately I had bought the wood eight years before at Mukden, and had stored it in a coffin shop in Peking, whence I now had it fetched. We set carpenters to work in our court-yard, and by the 20th, the coffin was finished. The wood was beautifully thick, and the whole appearance of the coffin most creditable. Never could I have expected that at such a time of haste and general disorder so perfect a piece of work could have been produced. The carpenters assured me that at the present time such a coffin would cost at least a thousand taels in Peking.[2] This comforted me not a little.

“Next morning the lacquer shop people sent over to put on the first coating of lacquer, in which at least two pounds were used. We then sent for the tailor and six assistants to make the grave clothes and purchased the materials for my mother’s ceremonial ‘going away dress.’ I had a long sable robe made up, but next day, as my mother appeared to be slightly better, I decided to postpone having the long outer robes prepared. Rumours were now rife that the barbarians had already reached T’ungchou, and were going to bombard Peking on the 27th, so that everyone was escaping who could leave the city. On the 27th, we put on the second coating of lacquer.

“On that day, our troops captured the barbarian leader Pa Hsia-li (Parkes) together with eight others, who were imprisoned in the Board of Punishments. Thereupon the whole city was in an uproar, and it became known that His Majesty was preparing to leave on a tour northwards. But the Concubine Yi persuaded some of the older officials to memorialise, urging him to remain, none of which Memorials have been published. All the Manchu and Chinese officials were now sending their families away and their valuables, but the large shops outside the main gate were doing business as usual. My mother’s condition remained much the same, and I applied for another ten days’ leave.