by Anchee Min
I didn’t want to talk about dead trees, so I asked about his days and his audiences. He had little to say, so we walked quietly for a while. He rocked the baby to sleep. It was the sweetest moment in my life. Em-peror Hsien Feng didn’t stay the night, and I dared not beg him to.
I told myself that I should be glad that my delivery had gone smoothly. I could have died under Chief Eunuch Shim’s whip, or a hundred different ways. The Imperial concubines had lost, and I regained His Majesty’s attention because of the newborn.
The next day Hsien Feng came again. He lingered after holding the baby. I made it a rule not to ask him any questions. He began to visit me regularly, always in the afternoon. Gradually we started to talk again. We chatted about our son, and he described the goings-on at court. He complained about how long everything took and the impotence of his ministers.
I listened most of the time. Hsien Feng seemed to enjoy our discussions and started to arrive earlier in the day. We were never intimate, but we were close.
I tried to be content with what I had. But part of me wanted more. After His Majesty had gone for the night, I couldn’t help imagining him with his Chinese women—surely they performed better tricks than my fan dance. I became miserable trying to understand why he was no longer attracted to me. Was it the change in my body shape? My red eyes? My milk-enlarged breasts? Why did he avoid coming near my bed?
An-te-hai tried to convince me that His Majesty’s lack of interest had nothing to do with me. “He isn’t in the habit of returning to women he has slept with. It doesn’t matter how much he praised their beauty or how satisfied he was in bed.”
The good news for me was that I had heard no report of any other pregnancy.
From Prince Kung’s letters I learned that Emperor Hsien Feng had been avoiding audiences since he had signed a new treaty with the foreigners, which acknowledged China’s defeat. Ashamed and humiliated, His Majesty spent his days alone in the Imperial gardens. At night, bodily pleasures had become his escape.
Sick as he was, he demanded round-the-clock entertainment. An-te-hai found out the details from a new friend, His Majesty’s chamber attendant, a eunuch named Chow Tee, a boy from An-te-hai’s hometown.
“His Majesty is drunk most of the time, and he is unable to perform his manhood,” An-te-hai told me. “He enjoys watching his women and orders them to touch themselves while dancing. The parties last all night while His Majesty sleeps.”
I recalled our last visit together. Hsien Feng couldn’t stop talking about his fall. “I have no doubt that I will be shredded into ten thousand pieces by my ancestors when I meet them.” He laughed nervously and coughed. His chest sounded like a wind box. “Doctor Sun Pao-tien has prescribed opium for my pain,” he said. “I don’t really mind dying, because I look forward to being released from my troubles.”
It was no longer a secret to the nation that the Emperor’s health had once again begun to decline. His pale face and empty eyes concerned everyone. Since we had moved back to the Forbidden City, the court’s ministers were ordered to report their state matters to him in his bedroom.
It broke my heart to see Hsien Feng giving up hope. Before he left my palace he said, “I am sorry.” Raising his face from his son’s cradle, he smiled sadly at me. “It is not up to me anymore.”
I looked at my child’s father putting on his dragon robe. He had no strength even to lift his sleeves. It took him three long breaths to get into his shoes.
I must ask him before it is too late to grant me the right to raise our son! The thought came to me while I held the baby and watched Hsien Feng enter his palanquin. I had mentioned my wish before, but there had been no response. According to An-te-hai, the Emperor would never hurt Nuharoo by taking away her right to be the first mother.
My son, who was born on May 1, 1856, was officially named Tung Chih. Tung also stood for “togetherness,” and Chih for “ruling”—that is, ruling together. If I had been superstitious, I would have seen that the name was a prediction itself.
The celebration started the day after his birth and lasted an entire month. Overnight the Forbidden City was turned into a festival. Red lanterns hung from all the trees. Everyone was dressed in red and green. Five opera troupes were invited to the palace to perform. Drums and music filled the air. The shows went on day and night. Drunkenness was rampant among men and women of all ages. The most asked question was “Where is the chamber pot?”
Unfortunately, all the gaiety didn’t stop bad news. No matter how many symbols of good luck and victory we wore, we were losing to the barbarians at the negotiating tables. Minister Chi Ying and Grand Secretary Kuei Liang, Prince Kung’s father-in-law, were sent to represent China. They came back with another humiliating treaty: thirteen nations, including England, France, Japan and Russia, had formed an al-liance against China. They insisted that we open more ports for opium and trade.
I sent a messenger to Prince Kung inviting him to meet his newborn nephew, but secretly I hoped he would also be able to persuade Hsien Feng to attend his audiences.
Prince Kung came immediately, and he looked agitated. I offered him fresh cherries and Lung Ching tea from Hangchow. He drank the tea in gulps as if it was plain water. I felt that I had chosen a bad time for the visit. But the moment Prince Kung saw Tung Chih, he picked the little thing up. The child smiled, and his uncle was completely taken. I knew Kung meant to stay longer, but a messenger came with a document for his signature, and he had to put Tung Chih down.
I sipped my tea as I rocked the cradle. After the messenger was gone, Prince Kung looked tired. I asked if it was the new treaty that weighed on him.
He nodded and smiled. “I don’t feel twenty-three, that’s for sure.”
I asked if he could tell me a bit about the treaty. “Is it really as awful as I hear?”
“You don’t want to know” was his reply.
“I already have some ideas about it,” I ventured to say. “I have been helping His Majesty with court documents.”
Prince Kung raised his eyes and looked at me.
“Sorry to surprise you,” I said.
“Not really,” he said. “I only wish that His Majesty would take a greater interest.”
“Why don’t you talk to him again?”
“His ears are stuffed with cotton balls.” He sighed. “I can’t shake him.”
“I might be able to influence His Majesty if you could inform me a bit,” I said. “After all, I need to learn for the sake of Tung Chih.”
The words seemed to make sense to Prince Kung, and he started talking. I was shocked to learn that the treaty allowed foreigners to open consulates in Peking.
“Each country has selected its own site, not far from the Forbidden City,” he said. “The treaty allows foreign merchant ships to travel along the Chinese coast, and missionaries are given the government’s protection.”
Tung Chih cried in my arms. He probably needed changing. I gently rocked him and he became quiet.
“Also, we are expected to agree to hire foreign inspectors to run our customs, and worst of all”—Prince Kung paused, then continued—“we are given no choice but to legalize opium.”
“His Majesty will not allow it,” I said, imagining Prince Kung coming for his brother’s signature.
“I wish it were up to him. The reality is that the foreign merchants are backed by the military powers of their countries.”
We sat staring out the window.
Tung Chih began to cry again. His voice was neither loud nor strong. It was like a kitten’s. A maid came to change him. Afterward I rocked him to sleep.
I thought about Hsien Feng’s health and the possibility that my son might grow up without a father.
“This is what a five-thousand-year-old civilization comes down to.” Prince Kung sighed as he rose from his seat.
“I haven’t seen His Majesty myself for a while,” I said, putting Tung Chih back in his cradle. “Has he been in touch with you?”
“He doesn’t want to see me. When he does, he calls me and my ministers a bunch of idiots. He threatens to behead Chi Ying and my father-in-law. He suspects them of being traitors. Before Chi Ying and Kuei Liang went to negotiate with the barbarians, they held farewell ceremonies with their families. They expected to be beheaded because they saw little hope that His Majesty would have his way. Our families drank and sang poems to send them off. My wife has been distraught. She blames me for involving her father. She threatens to hang herself if anything should happen to him.”
“What would happen if Hsien Feng refused to sign the treaty?”
“His Majesty doesn’t have a choice. Foreign troops are already stationed in Tientsin. Their target would be Peking. The bayonet is at our throat.” Looking at Tung Chih, Prince Kung said, “I am afraid I must go back to work now.”
As I watched him walk down the corridor, I felt fortunate that at least Tung Chih had this man as an uncle.
Fifteen
WITHIN WEEKS of his birth, Tung Chih was due for his first ceremony. It was called Shih-san, the Three Baths. According to the scripture of our ancestors, the ritual would ensure Tung Chih’s place in the universe. The night before the event, my palace was decorated anew by the eunuchs, who wrapped the beams and eaves in cloth dyed red and green. By nine o’clock the next morning everything was set. Pumpkin-shaped red lanterns hung in front of the gates and hallways.
I was excited because my mother, my sister Rong and brother Kuei Hsiang had received permission to join me. Their visit was the first since I had entered the Forbidden City. I imagined how delighted my mother would be when I passed Tung Chih to her to hold. I hoped he would smile. I wondered how Rong had been doing. There was a young man I planned to introduce her to.
Kuei Hsiang had recently been honored with my father’s title. He now had the choice of either staying in Peking and living off his annual taels or following in our father’s footsteps, working his way toward a career in the Imperial court. Kuei Hsiang chose the former, which didn’t surprise me; he lacked our father’s determination. Nevertheless, it would be a comfort to my mother to have her son close by.
When the sun warmed the garden and the fragrance of flowers filled the air, the guests began to arrive. Among them were the senior concubines of Tung Chih’s grandfather Tao Kuang. I remembered those crones well from the Palace of Benevolent Tranquility.
“You should really consider their presence an honor, my lady,” An-te-hai said. “They rarely venture out in public; Buddhists are supposed to cultivate solitude.”
The ladies arrived in groups, dressed in thin, dirt-colored cotton. Their gift boxes were not red but yellow, with wrapping made of dry leaves. Later I would discover that they all contained the same thing, a statue of a sitting Buddha carved out of a piece of wood or jade.
I stood by the gate and greeted the guests in my lovely peach-colored robe. Carried by a lady in waiting, Tung Chih was bundled in golden cloth. He had just opened his eyes and was in a cheerful mood. He gazed at the visitors with the look of a sage. By the time the sun was above the roof, the royal relatives who lived outside the Forbidden City had arrived, among them Prince Kung, Prince Ts’eng, Prince Ch’un and their fujins and children.
Emperor Hsien Feng and Nuharoo appeared at noon. Their arrival was announced by a double line of colorfully dressed eunuchs that stretched for half a mile. Hsien Feng’s dragon chair and Nuharoo’s phoenix chair advanced toward the palace gate between the ranks of eunuchs.
The Emperor had come to my palace the night before for tea. He had brought Tung Chih a gift: his own belt, the one made of horsehair and folded white silk ribbons. He thanked me for giving him a son.
Gathering all my courage, I told him that I had been lonely. Although I had Tung Chih, I said, I felt confused and lost. I begged him to spend the night. “It has been too long, Hsien Feng.”
He understood but wouldn’t stay. Over the past few months he had filled every available bedroom in the Summer Palace with beauties from around the country. He said, “I am not well. The doctor has advised me to sleep alone in order to prevent my essence from leaking.”
I began to understand Nuharoo, Ladies Yun, Li, Mei and Hui, and those whom the Son of Heaven no longer desired or remembered.
“I have signed an edict granting you a new title,” my husband said, rising to leave. “It will be announced tomorrow, and I hope you will be pleased. From now on, you will have the same rank and title as Nuharoo.”
The Shih-san ceremony began. The concubines scattered after Nuharoo gave them permission to sit down. The ladies were dressed in festivalthemed gowns as if attending an opera. They looked around and criticized everything.
Nuharoo said to me, “Please be seated, younger sister.” Her eyes softened, although the dark heavy lines of her makeup still looked harsh.
I sat down on a chair next to her.
The crowd sensed that Nuharoo was about to speak. They gathered closer and stretched their necks to show their eagerness to listen.
“Pity me as a woman,” Nuharoo spoke to the crowd. “I am guilty toward His Majesty. It is my misfortune for not being able to bear him children. Tung Chih is my chance to prove to him my loyalty. I felt that I was already Tung Chih’s mother when Lady Yehonala’s belly began to swell.” She smiled at her own words. “I am in love with my son.”
There was no trace of irony in her voice. I wished I were wrong about her intentions. If love was all she had for Tung Chih, I would gladly let her have her way. But my instincts as a mother ran deep, and I felt that any trust would be misplaced.
“Come and share my happiness, everyone!” Nuharoo cheered. “Meet my heavenly boy, Tung Chih!”
The concubines tried hard to show enthusiasm. Their faces were covered with paint and their heads heavily decorated with ornaments. They got down on their knees and wished Nuharoo and me “ten thousand years of longevity.” I didn’t feel comfortable when the ladies surrounded the cradle. They kissed Tung Chih on the cheeks. Their red-smeared lips made me think of hungry wolves tearing a rabbit to shreds.
I smelled an unusual herb as Lady Yun walked by. She was in a pale yellow silk dress embroidered with white chrysanthemums. Her earrings were two walnut-sized balls that dangled to her shoulders. When Lady Yun sat down and smiled, dimples showed on her cheeks.
“Does the baby sleep through the night?” she asked. “Not yet?”
Nuharoo and I exchanged glances.
“I would appreciate some words of good luck,” Nuharoo said to Lady Yun.
“Did you notice that the plum trees have just blossomed?” As if she hadn’t heard Nuharoo, Lady Yun went on. “The strangest thing happened this morning at my palace.”
“And what is that?” the other ladies asked, stretching their necks toward Lady Yun like geese.
“In the corner of my bedroom”—Lady Yun lowered her voice to a whisper—“I discovered a giant mushroom. It was as big as a human head!”
Seeing that she had stunned her audience, Lady Yun smiled. “More strange things are going to happen. My astrologer read a sign of death from a spider web in a sweet osmanthus tree. Of course, I am not unaware of such things myself. Emperor Hsien Feng has told me many times that he turns into a rag as he sleeps and is carried by the southern wind directly to Heaven. His Majesty wishes no farewell ceremony. It is his decision that we shall all be widowed.”
Nuharoo sat with her back as straight as a pine tree. She blinked her eyes and decided to ignore Lady Yun. She took up her teacup and lifted the lid to sip.
The rest of the ladies followed suit. We dipped our noses in our teacups in unison.
I wondered if Lady Yun was sane. The line seemed to blur as I continued observing. There was truth in her words when she began to sing “Dust in the Wind”:
You ask me when I’m coming.
Alas, not yet, not yet …
How rain filled the pools on the night we met!
Ah, shall we ever snuff candles again
&n
bsp; And recall the glad hours of that evening’s rain?
Finally my mother’s palanquin reached the side entrance of the Gate of Celestial Purity. The moment I saw Mother getting out, I burst into tears. She had aged, and now leaned helplessly on the arms of Rong and Kuei Hsiang. Before I finished my ceremonial greeting, Mother broke down. “Congratulations, Orchid. I didn’t think I would live to see my grandson.”
“The lucky moment has arrived!” Chief Eunuch Shim’s call came from the hallway. “Music and fireworks!”
Guided by eunuchs specially trained in ritual, I moved through the crowd. I asked Emperor Hsien Feng if my mother could sit with me, and he granted my wish. My family was so happy they wept. With difficulty Mother leaned over and touched Tung Chih for the first time. “I am ready to go see your father in peace,” she said to me.
After we sat down, Rong and Kuei Hsiang reported that they had been taking Mother to the best doctors in Peking. She looked frail. I took Mother’s hands in mine. By custom, my family couldn’t stay overnight in the Forbidden City, and we would have to part when the ceremony ended. The idea that I might never see Mother again disturbed me so much that I ignored Nuharoo’s request that I join her to receive members of the court.
“Think this way, Orchid,” Mother said, trying to comfort me. “Dying will be a relief for me, since I am in so much pain.”
I leaned my head on Mother’s shoulder and was unable to say a word.
“Try not to spoil the moment, Orchid.” Mother smiled.
I made an effort to look cheerful. It didn’t seem real to me that everyone was here for my son.
Kuei Hsiang had begun to mingle in the crowd and I could hear him laugh. I could tell that the rice wine had taken effect.
Rong was more beautiful but thinner than the last time I had seen her.
“Rong’s future has not yet been settled, and that worries me,” Mother said with a sigh. “She hasn’t been as lucky as you. Not one worthy proposal, and she is over twenty.”
