The Last Empress - Anchee Min [100]
Though it was easy to be skeptical of Kang, I tried to stay neutral. I reminded myself that I might be blinded by my own limitations. China had a deserved reputation for being self-righteous and inflexible—opposed to change of any kind. I knew we had to change, but was unsure of the way. I tried to hold my tongue.
The throne was caught in the middle when the court broke into two factions: the reformers versus the conservatives. Kang Yu-wei's friends claimed that they represented the Emperor and had the support of the public, while the Manchu Ironhats, led by Prince Ts'eng, his son Prince Ts'eng Junior and the Emperor's brother Prince Ch'un Junior, called their counterparts "bogus experts in reform and Western matters." The conservatives labeled Kang Yu-wei "the Wild Fox" and "the Bigmouth."
The Ironhats played right into Kang's hands. Overnight, their attacks raised the failed Cantonese scholar from relative obscurity to national renown—"the throne's leading advisor on reform."
The moderates at court were in a bind. The reforms Yung Lu and Li Hung-chang had set in motion were swept aside by Kang's more radical plans, and now they themselves were being pushed to choose sides. Making matters worse, Kang Yu-wei boasted to foreign journalists that he knew the Emperor intimately.
On September 5, 1898, Guang-hsu issued a new decree stating that he had "ceased to be concerned with pruning branches"—Kang Yu-wei's language—and was "looking to rip out the rotten roots."
A few days later the Emperor dismissed the Imperial councilors along with the governors of Canton, Yunnan and Hupeh provinces. My palace gate was blocked because the governors and their families had come to Peking seeking my support. They begged for me to control the Emperor.
My office was filled with memorandums sent by Guang-hsu and his opponents. I concentrated on learning about my son's new friends. Touched by their patriotism, I was concerned about their political naiveté. Kang Yu-wei's radical views seemed to have changed my son's way of thinking. Guang-hsu now believed that he could achieve reform overnight if he pushed hard enough.
As the leaves took on autumn colors, it became more difficult to restrain myself—I was sorely tempted to interfere with my son.
In the midst of the turmoil, Li Hung-chang returned from a trip to Europe. He requested a private audience and I was pleased to receive him. Bringing me a German telescope and a cake from Spain, Li described his trip as an eye-opening experience. He even looked different; he'd left his beard untrimmed. Replying to his suggestion that I should travel myself, I could only lament that the court had already rejected the idea; Guang-hsu had worried that I might also be shot. The court believed that I might be taken hostage and that the price of my release would be China's sovereignty.
I assumed Li Hung-chang had let his beard grow fuller to hide the scars of his wound. I asked if his jaw still bothered him, and he assured me that it was no longer painful. I asked him to show me how to use the telescope. He pointed out the eyepiece and how to focus and told me that at night I could see distant planets and stars.
"The Emperor would love this," I marveled.
"I did try to bring one to His Majesty," Li said, "but I was denied entrance."
"Why?" I asked.
"His Majesty dismissed me on September 7." Li Hung-chang spoke matter-of-factly. "I am jobless and titleless."
"Dismissed you?" I could hardly believe what I heard.
"Yes."
"But ... my son didn't inform me."
"He will soon, I am sure."
"What ... what are you going to do?" I didn't know what else to say. I felt terrible.
"With your permission, I would like to leave Peking. I want to move to Canton."
"Is that why you came, Li Hung-chang?" I asked. "To inform me?"
"Yes, I come to bid farewell, Your Majesty. My close associate S. S. Huan is prepared to serve you in all matters. However, it would be best to keep him away from royal politics."
I asked Li Hung-chang who would replace him on the diplomatic front. Li replied, "Prince I-kuang