Watching my body abandoning itself was a terrifying experience. Yet there was nothing I could do. I continued to follow the doctors' advice and took the bitterest herbs, but each morning I felt worse than the day before.
My body had begun to consume itself, and I knew my time had come. Before the eyes of the court I tried to mask my condition. Makeup helped. So did cotton batting worn under my clothes. Only Li Lien-ying knew that I was a bag of bones and that my stools lacked all formation. I began coughing up blood.
I tried to prepare my son, but stopped short of revealing my true condition. "Your survival depends on your domination," I said to him.
"Mother, I feel unwell and unsure." Guang-hsu looked at me sad-eyed.
The dynasty has exhausted its essence was the thought that came to my mind.
My astrologer suggested that I invite an opera troupe to perform happy songs. "It will help drive out the mean spirits," he said.
A letter of farewell from Robert Hart reached me. He was returning home to England for good. He would depart on November 7, 1908.
I could hardly bear the thought that I was losing another good friend. Though I was in no condition to receive guests, I summoned him.
Dressed in his official Mandarin robe, he bowed solemnly.
"Look at us," I said. "We are both white-haired." I did not have the energy even to tell him to sit down, so I gestured toward the chair. He understood and took the seat.
"Forgive me for not being able to attend your farewell ceremony," I said. "I haven't been well, and death is waiting for me."
"Also for me." He smiled. "However, it is the good memories that count."
"I could not agree more, Sir Robert."
"I come to thank you for offering me so much over the years."
"I can only take credit for my effort to meet you this time. Once again the court was against it."
"I know how hard it is to make exceptions. Foreigners have a bad reputation in China. Deservedly so."
"You are seventy-two years old, aren't you, Sir Robert?"
"Yes, I am, Your Majesty."
"And you have been living in China for…"
"Forty-seven years."
"What can I say? You should be proud."
"I am indeed."
"I trust that you have made arrangements for someone to take over your duties."
"There is nothing to worry about, Your Majesty. The customs service is a well-oiled machine. It will run itself."
It surprised me that he never mentioned the honors he received from the Queen of England, nor did he talk about his English wife, from whom he had been separated for more than thirty-two years. He did mention his Chinese concubine of ten years and the three children they had. Her death. His regrets. He mentioned her suffering. "She was the sensible one," he said, and wished that he had done more to protect her.
I told him of my troubles with both of my sons-something I had never shared with anyone else. We sighed over the fact that loving our children was not enough to help them survive.
When I asked Sir Robert to tell me about his best time in China, he answered that it was working under Prince Kung and Li Hung-chang. "Both were courageous and brilliant men," he said, "and both were helplessly stubborn in their own unique ways."
Last we mentioned Yung Lu. From the way Sir Robert looked at me, I knew he understood everything.
"You must have heard the rumors," I said.
"How could I not? The rumors and the fabrications of the Western journalists and some of the truth."
"What did you think?"
"What did I think? I didn't know what to think, to be honest. You were quite a couple. I mean, you worked together well."
"I loved him." Shocked by my own confession, I stared at him.
He didn't seem to be surprised. "I am happy for my friend's soul, then. I had long sensed that he had feelings for you."
"We did the best we could. Which was less than what it should have been. It was very hard."
"I had great admiration for Yung Lu. Although we were friends, I didn't get to know him well until the legation mess. He saved us by firing his shells over the rooftops. Afterward, he delivered five watermelons to me. I was certain it was you who had sent him."
I smiled.
"Just out of curiosity," Robert Hart said, "how did you get the court to agree?"
"Yung Lu and I never discussed sending the watermelons."
"I see. Yung Lu was good at guessing your mind."
"He was."
"You must miss him."
"'The silkworm labors, until death its fine thread severs.'" I recited the first line of a thousand-year-old poem.
Sir Robert finished the verse: "'The candle's tears are dried when it itself consumes.'"
"You are an extraordinary foreigner, Robert Hart."
"I am disappointed that Your Majesty doesn't consider me Chinese. I consider myself one."
This gave me great pleasure.
"I do not want you to go," I said when it was time to part. "But I understand that a leaf must fall by the roots of its tree. Remember that you have a home and family here in China. I will miss you and will always be waiting for your return."
We both became tearful. He got down on his knees and placed his forehead on the ground for a long time.
I wanted to say "until next time," but it was clear that there would be no next time.
"I wish to see you off, Sir Robert, but I am too weak to get up from my chair. By the time you reach England, you might hear the news of my passing."
"Your Majesty…"
"I want you to be happy for the freedom my spirit will finally enjoy."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
47
My death was written all over their faces when the doctors begged for punishment for failing to cure me. I sent them home so that I could have time to make the necessary arrangements.
The depressing thing about dying is its dreariness. People around you no longer tease or joke, and they keep their voices low and walk on tiptoe. Everyone waits for the end, and yet the days stretch on.
Li Lien-ying was the only one who refused to give up. He made my healing his religion and guarded me from anything he believed would disturb me. He withheld news of Guang-hsu's condition, and I had no idea that my son's health had taken a critical turn for the worse. I planned to visit Ying-t'ai to see him as soon as I could get out of bed.
On November 14, 1908, I woke to the sound of loud crying. I thought my time must have come because my eyelids felt so heavy. The right side of my body felt hot, and the left side cold. With my blurred vision I saw a roomful of eunuchs on their knees.
"The Dragon has ascended to Heaven!" It was Li Lien-ying's voice.
"I am not dead yet," I uttered.
"It is your son, my lady. Emperor Guang-hsu has just passed away!"
I was carried to Guang-hsu's room. The sight of my son brought back the memory of the day Tung Chih died. I looked up and said, "Heaven's mercy! Guang-hsu is only thirty-eight years old."
His corpse was still warm. His face was as gray as when he was alive.
This must be how drowning felt. The water was warm. My lungs felt sealed. My spirit welcomed the eternal darkness.
"Come back, Your Majesty," Li Lien-ying wailed. "Come back, my lady!"
Then I remembered my duty-the heir I hadn't named.
I willed myself to summon the Grand Council.
I don't know how long they had to wait before me. When I opened my eyes again I saw Yuan Shih-kai standing on my left and Prince Ch'un Junior on my right. The room was filled with people.
"The heir, Your Majesty?" everyone asked at the same time.
"Puyi" was all I said.
I named Prince Ch'un Junior's son, the three-year-old Puyi-Yung Lu's grandson and my grandnephew-as the new Emperor of China. The royal bloodline was becoming thin.
I could not move my arms or legs, could hear only my own labored breathing. My body had been loaded with medicine. I felt no pain. My thoughts had slowed down but hadn't stopped.