China has had female rulers that make figures in history, such as Lu of the Han and Wu of the T'ang dynasties, but she has no law providing for the succession of a female under any conditions. A female reign is abnormal, and the ruler a monstrosity. Her character is always blackened so as to make it difficult to delineate. Yet in every instance those women have possessed rare talent; for without uncommon gifts it must have been impossible to seize a sceptre in the face of such prejudices, and to sway it over a submissive people. Usually they are described much as the Jewish chronicler sketches the character of Jezebel or Athaliah. Cruel, licentious, and implacable, they "destroy the seed royal," they murder the prophets and they make the ears of the nation tingle with stories of shameless immorality.
Among these we shall not seek a parallel for the famous Empress Dowager, so well known to the readers of magazine literature. In tragic vicissitudes, if not in length of reign, she stood without a rival in the history of the world. She also stood alone in the fact that her destinies were interwoven with the tangle of foreign invasion. Twice she fled from the gates of a fallen capital; and twice did the foreign conqueror permit her to return. Without the foreigner and his self-imposed restraint, there could have been no Empress Dowager in China. Did she hate the foreigner for driving her away, or did she thank him for her repeated restoration?
The daughter of Duke Chou (the slave-girl story is a myth), she became a secondary wife of Hienfung in 1853 or 1854; and her sister somewhat later became consort of the Emperor's youngest brother. Having the happiness to present her lord with a son, she was raised to the rank of Empress and began to exert no little influence in the character of mother to an heir-apparent. Had she not been protected by her new rank her childless rival might have driven her from court and appropriated the boy. She had instead to admit a joint motherhood, which in a few years led to a joint regency.
Scarcely had the young Empress become accustomed to her new dignity, when the fall of Taku and Tientsin, in 1860, warned the Emperor of what he might expect. Taking the two imperial ladies and their infant son, he retired to Jeho, on the borders of Tartary, in time to escape capture. There he heard of the burning of his summer palace and the surrender of his capital. Whether he succumbed to disease or whether a proud nature refused to survive his disgrace, is not known. What we do know is, that on his death, in 1861, two princes, Sushun and Tuanhwa, organised a regency and brought the court back to the capital about a year after the treaty of peace had been signed by Prince Kung as the Emperor's representative. Prince Kung was not included in the council of regency; and he knew that he was marked for destruction. Resolving to be beforehand, he found means to consult with the Empresses, who looked to him to rescue them from the tyranny of the Council of Eight. On December 2 the blow was struck: all the members of the council were seized; the leader was put to death in the market-place; some committed suicide; and others were condemned to exile. A new regency was formed, consisting of the two Empresses and Prince Kung, the latter having the title of "joint regent."
What part the Empress Mother had taken in this her first coup d'état, is left to conjecture. Penetrating and ambitious she was not content to be a tool in the hands of the Eight. The senior Empress yielded to the ascendency of a superior mind, as she continued to do for twenty years.
There was another actor whom it would be wrong to overlook, namely, Kweiliang, the good secretary, who had signed the treaties at Tientsin. His daughter was Prince Kung's principal wife, and though too old to take a leading part in the Court revolutions, it was he who prompted Prince Kung, who was young and inexperienced, to strike for his life.
The reigning title of the infant Emperor was changed from Kisiang, "good luck," to Tung-chi, "joint government"; and the Empire acquiesced in the new régime.
One person there was, however, who was not quite satisfied with the arrangement. This was the restless, ambitious young Dowager. The Empire was quiet; and things went on in their new course for years, Prince Kung all the time growing in power and dignity. His growing influence gave her umbrage; and one morning a decree from the two Dowagers stripped him of power, and confined him a prisoner in his palace. His alleged offence was want of respect to their Majesties; he threw himself at their feet and implored forgiveness.
The ladies were not implacable; he was restored to favour and clothed with all his former dignities, except one. The title of Icheng-wang, "joint regent," never reappeared.
In 1881 the death of the senior Dowager left the second Dowager alone in her glory. So harmoniously had they coöperated during their joint regency, and so submissive had the former been to the will of the latter, that there was no ground for suspicion of foul play, yet such suspicions are always on the wing, like bats in the twilight of an Oriental court.