Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [103]
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,