The Last Empress - Anchee Min [55]
During one October audience Li Hung-chang got carried away with his proposal to demolish the ancient Chinese school system and replace it with a Western model. As a counterweight to his enthusiasm, I used Chang Chih-tung. As a product of the traditional Chinese system, Chang preached the importance of "educating the soul before its body."
At this audience, as I had predicted to Guang-hsu, Li suddenly felt he was under attack. "It is my way to lead him to reconsider his approach," I explained to Guang-hsu later. "My calling for Chang served to remind Li Hung-chang that he is not the only one the throne depends on."
Such tactics of manipulation were not something I wished to teach my son, but they were necessary to his survival as Emperor. Guang-hsu had inherited Tung Chih's vulnerable empire, and I saw it as my duty to prepare him for the worst. As the saying went, "The devil that can hurt you is the devil you don't know." The damage would be even worse if the child were to be betrayed by his parent or guardian—a lesson I learned with Tung Chih's death.
18
The temperature suddenly dropped and water in the giant jar in the courtyard outside the audience hall glazed over with ice. Inside, the wood-burning heaters glowed red in the four corners. Nuharoo and I were glad that we had had the windows repaired. The gaps had been sealed to stop the whistle of the northwest wind. The eunuchs also changed the draperies. The thin silk curtains were replaced by thick velvet.
As soon as Guang-hsu was able, I talked with Tutor Weng and made the audiences his classroom. It was not easy for my son. His tutor would help him digest what he saw and heard. Often the matters were too complicated for a child to grasp. To make it work, I took time preparing Guang-hsu for the upcoming discussion.
"Was it Russia's business to protect Sinkiang?" Guang-hsu asked about the situation back in 1871, when tsarist forces had moved into our far western wilderness of Sinkiang, a region called Ili, after its river.
"Russia went on behalf of our court, to prevent Ili from becoming an independent Moslem state," I replied. "We didn't invite the Russians, though."
"You mean the Russians invited themselves in?"
"Yes."
Guang-hsu tried to comprehend. "But ... weren't the Moslem uprisings swept away?" He pointed at the map and his finger traced the places. "Why are the Russians still here? Why didn't they return to where they came from?"
"We don't know," I said.
"Yung Lu is in Sinkiang, isn't he?" the child persisted.
I nodded.
"Has he done something to drive the Russians away?"
"Yes, he has asked our charitable Russian neighbors for the return of Ili."
"And?"
"They refused."
"Why?"
I told Guang-hsu that I wished I could explain. Unlike Tung Chih, at least Guang-hsu understood that China did not hold a strong hand at the bargaining table. Guang-hsu tried hard to fathom the decisions he was forced to make, but often it was impossible. The child couldn't perceive why China had to carry on long and exhaustive diplomatic negotiations with Russia only to have to yield in the end. He would never understand why a treaty in his name he had just signed, in February of 1881, imposed a payment of nine million rubles to Russia for China's own territories.
I began to see how Guang-hsu was reacting to the audiences. He was under constant pressure and suffered terribly. When he heard bad news, I could feel his nervousness and saw fear written on his face. I was guilty of joining the ministers who grumbled impatiently about when Guang-hsu would catch up by growing up.
Soon it was no longer simply a learning experience for Guang-hsu. Shocked on a daily basis, his mood