The Last Empress - Anchee Min [54]
Around the age of forty-five I had become uncertain of the life I had chosen for myself. When I first entered the Forbidden City, I never doubted my aspirations to live there. Now I felt even more strongly about what I had missed and what had been taken away from me—the freedom to wander, the right to love and, most of all, the right to be myself.
I would never forget Chinese New Year's celebrations in Wuhu. I had enjoyed the harvest, the fresh rice, salted and roasted soybeans and picked vegetables. All the girls gathered together with their treats and watched local opera performances. I missed visiting relatives and friends. Although I had every luxury and my duties were often rewarding, Imperial glory also meant loneliness and living in constant fear of rebellion and assassination.
Tung Chih's death had changed my perspective toward life. I didn't miss his being the Emperor, I missed holding his tiny feet in my palms when he was born, missed the first time he smiled his toothless smile. I missed taking him to gardens and watching him run free. His favorite thing to do was to fashion willow branches into play horsewhips. Nothing was about being Emperor, but being with each other.
Tung Chih's death had robbed me of happiness, and I was determined to prevent Guang-hsu from being robbed of the same. I avoided anything that would cause regret and remorse, or so I thought. I wasn't sure that I was escaping it.
I wanted to see Guang-hsu become the Emperor on his own terms, not mine. I wished to see him become a man before a ruler. I knew Chinese teachings wouldn't do much to help that, but I hoped that the Western studies might give him that chance.
My attendance at the audiences and Nuharoo's preoccupation with her religious ceremonies often left Guang-hsu at the mercy of the eunuchs after his schooling. I would later discover that several of Guang-hsu's attendants had been extraordinarily malicious. I expected that An-te-hai's death would agitate the eunuch population, causing insecurity and even rage. But I never expected this expression of revenge.
Behind my back, the eunuchs wrapped the nine-year-old Guang-hsu in a heavy blanket and rolled him in the snow. The blanket made him sweat profusely, but his uncovered limbs were exposed to the cold. When I became suspicious about his chronic coughing, the eunuchs withheld information until I investigated and found out the truth.
His health remained delicate, and the eunuchs continued to torment the boy over An-te-hai's murder. Not all the eunuchs intended to torture Guang-hsu, but their superstitions and antiquated traditions affected how they cared for him. For example, they sincerely believed that starvation and dehydration were acceptable methods of medical treatment.
What I couldn't forgive were those who failed to provide Guang-hsu with a chamber pot in time, and who laughed and humiliated him when he wet his pants. These fiends I punished severely.
Unfortunately, the most vicious acts were committed as if they were nothing out of the ordinary. Then it was I who was called abusive and cruel.
I could not forgive myself even after the eunuchs were punished. Guang-hsu's suffering pained me. I began to doubt my making him Emperor. The irony was that the Manchu princes constantly wished for fate to put their sons in Guang-hsu's shoes.
Future critics, historians and scholars would insist that Guang-hsu had led a normal life until I, his aunt, wrecked him. Guang-hsu's life in the Forbidden City was described as "deprived." He was constantly "tormented by the evil murderess" and, it was said, he lived like "a virtual prisoner until he died."
Although it was true that I did not adopt Guang-hsu out of love, I grew to love him. I could not explain how it had happened, nor did I feel the need to. Salvation was what I found in the little boy. Anyone who was once a mother or who had the misfortune to lose a child would understand what happened between Guang-hsu and me.
I remembered that Guang-hsu was too young to detect my intentions