China under the Empress Dowager

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

IV
THE FIRST REGENCY

Although the collapse of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy, and the stern justice administered to its leaders, rendered Yehonala’s position secure and made her de facto ruler of the Empire (for her colleague was, politically speaking, a negligible quantity, or nearly so), she was extremely careful, during the first years of the Regency, to avoid all conspicuous assumption of power and to keep herself and her ambitions in the background, while she omitted no opportunity of improving her knowledge of the art of government and of gaining the support of China’s leading officials. For this reason all the Decrees of this period are issued in the name of the Emperor, and Tzŭ Hsi’s assumption of authority was even less conspicuous than during her period of retirement at the Summer Palace after the conclusion of Kuang-Hsü’s minority. The first Regency (1861-1873) may be described as Tzŭ Hsi’s tentative period of rule, in which she tasted the sweets, while avoiding the appearance, of power. During the second Regency (1875-1889), while her name appeared only occasionally as the author of Imperial Decrees, she was careful to keep in her hands all official appointments, the granting of rewards and punishments and other matters of internal politics calculated to increase her personal popularity and prestige with the mandarinate. The “curtain was not suspended” during Kuang-Hsü’s minority, as he was the nominee of the Empresses, whereas the Emperor T’ung-Chih held his mandate direct from the late Emperor, his father. It was not until the final Regency (1898-1908), which was not a Regency at all in the strict sense of the word but an usurpation of the Imperial prerogative during the lifetime of the sovereign, that, assured of the strength of her position, she gave full rein to her love of power and, with something of the contempt which springs from long familiarity, took unto herself all the outward and visible signs of Imperial authority, holding audience daily in the Great Hall of the Palace, seated on the Dragon Throne, with the puppet Emperor relegated to a position of inferiority, recognised and acclaimed as the Old Buddha, the sole and undisputed ruler of the Empire.

At the outset of her career, she appears to have realised that the idea of female rulers had never been popular with the Chinese people; that even the Empress Wu of the eighth century, the greatest woman in Chinese history, was regarded as a usurper. She was aware that the Empress Lü (whose character, as described by historians, was not unlike her own), to whom was due the consolidation of power that marked the rise of the Han Dynasty, enjoys but scant respect from posterity. On the other hand, she knew—for the study of history was her pastime—that the Empresses Dowagers of the past had often wielded supreme power in the State, principles and precedents notwithstanding, and their example she determined to follow. Upon the taking off of the three chief conspirators, the Censors and Ministers urged her to deal in similar drastic fashion with their aiders and abettors, and Prince Kung was anxious, if not for revenge, at least for precautions being taken against those who had had the ear of the late Emperor during the last months of his reign. But Yehonala showed statesmanlike forbearance: early in life she realised that a few victims are better than many, and that lives spared often mean whole families of friends. After cashiering Prince Yi’s remaining colleagues of the Grand Council, she dealt leniently with other offenders. When, for instance, Chen Tu-en, President of the Board of Civil Appointments, was impeached on the ground that it was he who had first persuaded the Emperor to flee to Jehol against her advice, and that, after the Emperor’s death, he alone of all the high officials at the capital had been summoned to Jehol by the usurping Regents, she contented herself with removing him from office, though his guilt was clearly proved. Another official, a Minister of the Household, who had endeavoured to further the aims of the conspirators, by dissuading Hsien-Feng from returning to Peking in the spring of 1861, on the plea that an insurrection was impending, was also cashiered. But there was nothing in the nature of a general proscription, in spite of the pecuniary and other advantages which usually commend retaliation to the party in power at Peking. In an able Decree, Tzŭ Hsi let it be understood that she wished to punish a few only, and those chiefly pour encourager les autres. It was always a characteristic of hers that, when her ends were safely secured, she adopted a policy of watchful leniency: moderata durant. In this instance she was fully aware of the fact that Tsai Yüan and his colleagues would never have had the opportunities, nor the courage, to conspire for the Regency had they not been assured of the sympathy and support of many of the higher officials, but she preferred to let the iron hand rest in its velvet glove unless openly thwarted. She would have no proscriptions, no wreaking of private grudges and revenges. It was this characteristic of hers that, as will be seen in another place, obtained for her, amongst the people of Peking in particular, a reputation for almost quixotic gentleness, a reputation which we find expressed in frequent references to the “Benign Countenance,” or “Benevolent Mother,” and which undoubtedly represented certain genuine impulses in her complex nature. So, having crushed the conspiracy, she contented herself with exhorting all concerned to “attend henceforth strictly to their duty, avoiding those sycophantic and evil tendencies which had brought Chen Tu-en and Huang Tsung-ban to their disgrace.” In another Decree she emphasised the principle that sins of omission are not much less grave than overt acts, roundly censuring the Princes and Ministers of her Government for having failed to denounce the conspirators at once, and charging them with cowardice. It was fear and nothing else, she said, that had prevented them from revealing the truth; and then, with one of those naïve touches which makes Chinese Edicts a perpetual feast, she added that, should there be any further plots of usurpers, she would expect to be informed of their proceedings without delay. Above all, she bade the Imperial Clan take warning by the fate of the three conspirators, and intimated that any further attempts of this kind would be far more severely dealt with.

One of the first steps of the Regency was to determine the title of the new reign. The usurping Princes had selected the characters “Chi-Hsiang,” meaning “well-omened happiness,” but to Yehonala’s scholarly taste and fine sense of fitness, the title seemed ill-chosen and redundant, and as she wished to obliterate all memory of the usurpers’ régime, she chose in its place the characters “T’ung-Chih,” meaning “all-pervading tranquillity,” probably with one eye on the suppression of the rebellion and the other on the chances of peace in the Forbidden City. As far as all good augury for the Emperor himself was concerned, one title was, as events proved, no more likely to be effective than the other.

On the same day as the proclamation of the new reign was made by Edict, the Empresses Dowager issued a Decree explaining, and ostensibly deprecating, the high honour thrust upon them.

“Our assumption of the Regency was utterly contrary to our wishes, but we have complied with the urgent request of our Princes and Ministers, because we realise that it is essential that there should be a higher authority to whom they may refer. So soon as ever the Emperor shall have completed his education, we shall take no further part in the Government, which will then naturally revert to the system prescribed by all dynastic tradition. Our sincere reluctance in assuming the direction of affairs must be manifest to all. Our officials are expected loyally to assist us in the arduous task which we have undertaken.”

Exterior of the Ch’ien Ch’ing Palace.

Photo, Ogawa, Tokio.

Following upon this, a Decree was issued in the name of the Emperor, which represented the boy as thanking their Majesties the Regents and promising that, so soon as he came of age, he would endeavour, by dutiful ministrations, to prove his gratitude.