The Last Empress - Anchee Min [73]
I had hinted to Li Hung-chang about what would be coming when I retired. It was frustrating to witness how Li was forced to endure humiliation, attacks on his character, even assassination attempts. The only thing I could do was show him how much I valued him. In a message delivered to Li by Yung Lu, his closest ally at court, I wrote, "If it becomes too much, you have my permission to take a leave of absence for any reason." I told him that I would grant any amount of compensation he might claim.
Li Hung-chang assured me that would be unnecessary and that my understanding of his sacrifices was all he needed to carry on. "It is not at all a good time for experimenting or allowing the stubborn-minded Ironhats time for self-discovery," I wrote him, "but that is how things are for me here."
I had lived with my husband in the Summer Palace. It was divided by lakes, called North Sea, South Sea and Middle Sea. Unlike Yuan Ming Yuan, which was a man-made wonder, the Summer Palace was designed to harmonize with nature's ways. The Garden of Clear Rippling Water, surrounding the palace itself, was only a small portion of the greater park area. Across its expanse, airy pavilions sat amid the lush green landscape, and the three large lakes glinted between shallow hills. My memories of the place were more than fond.
It was Guang-hsu who finally convinced me to allow the restoration to take place. He personally read his statement to the court urging the start of construction. "It is the least China can bestow on its Grand Empress, who has suffered so much." I could see that Guang-hsu was attempting to assert his independence, and I felt that I needed to support him.
When loyal ministers wrote to warn me of a "father-and-son plot" that intended to isolate me politically, I wrote on the back of their letters, "If there is a plot, it is one of my own design." I was more concerned about where the money would come from. The first priority of the admiralty and revenue boards was to establish China's navy, and I wanted that priority honored.
In June, Guang-hsu published his decree regarding the restoration of my home: "...I then remembered that in the neighborhood of the Western Park there was a palace. Many of the buildings were in poor condition and required restoration to make them fit for Her Majesty the Grand Empress's use as a place of solace and delight." He conferred a new name on the Garden of Clear Rippling Waters: it would now be known as the Garden for the Cultivation of Harmonious Old Age.
After demurring, I issued an official reply: "I am aware that the Emperor's desire to restore the palace in the west springs from his laudable concern for my welfare, and for that reason I cannot bear to meet his well-meaning petition with a blunt refusal. Moreover, the costs of the construction have all been provided for out of the surplus funds accumulated as a result of rigid economies in the past. The funds under the control of the Board of Revenue will not be touched, and no harm will be done to the national finances."
My statement was meant to mollify those who opposed the plan, but I ended up falling into a trap. Soon I would be locked in two battles, an experience I would barely survive.
The first battle would be started by Tutor Weng. When the scholar-reformer was given the highest power, he encouraged Guang-hsu's already great passion for reform. When he could have played a moderating role, Tutor Weng instead pushed him harder, setting the Emperor on a course that would ultimately prove disastrous both for our family and for China.
The second battle would be my fight against taking the responsibility for China's lost war with Japan. Years later, when all of the men ran away from blame, I would be the one to bear the disgrace. What could I do? I had been fully