“Did the trouble start when the missionaries built churches?” I asked.
“Yes, when they chose sites the locals considered to have the best feng shui. Villagers believed that the shadows cast by churches onto their ancestral graveyards would disturb the dead. The Catholics also denigrated Chinese religions, which offended the local people.”
“Why wouldn’t the foreigners be more understanding?”
“They insisted that their god was the only god.”
“Our people would never accept this.”
“True.” Prince Kung nodded. “Fights started between the new converts and those who held on to their old beliefs. People of dubious reputation, even criminals, joined the Catholics. Many committed crimes in the name of their god.”
“I’m sure that would lead to violence.”
“Indeed. When the missionaries attempted to defend the criminals, the locals gathered by the thousands. They burned down the churches and murdred the missionaries.”
“Is that why the treaties made clear that China would be fined heavily if it failed to control uprisings?”
“The fines are bankrupting us.”
There was a silence, and Prince Kung turned to look at the Emperor, who was breathing deeply.
“Why don’t we tell the missionaries to leave?” I asked, wishing that I could help myself not to. “Tell them to come back when things are more stable here?”
“His Majesty did. He even gave them the date.”
“What was the response?”
“Threats of war.”
“Why do the foreigners force their ways on us? As Manchus, we don’t force our views on the Chinese. We don’t tell them to stop binding their women’s feet.”
Prince Kung gave a sarcastic laugh. “Can a beggar demand respect?” He turned to look at me as if expecting an answer.
The room began to feel cold. I watched our teacups being refilled.
“The Son of Heaven has been kicked around,” I said. “China has been kicked around. Everyone is too ashamed to admit it!”
Prince Kung gestured for me to keep my voice down.
In his sleep Hsien Feng’s cheeks flushed. He must be running a fever again. His breathing was now labored, as if not enough air was entering his lungs.
“Your brother believes in pa kua-the eight diagrams-and feng shui,” I told Prince Kung. “He believes he is protected by the gods.”
Kung took a sip of his tea. “Everyone believes what he wants to be-lieve. But reality is like a rock from the bottom of a manure pit. It stinks!”
“How did the Westerners become so powerful?” I asked. “What should we learn about them?”
“Why do you want to bother?” He smiled. He must be thinking that this was no subject for a woman to discuss.
I told Prince Kung that Emperor Hsien Feng was interested in learning. And that I could be helpful.
A look of recognition passed between us. It seemed to make sense to him. “This is no small topic. But you might begin by reading my letters to His Majesty. We must escape the trap of self-deception and…” He raised his eyes and suddenly went quiet.
It was through Prince Kung that I learned of the third important man, the general of the Northern Army and the viceroy of Anhwei province. His name was Tseng Kuo-fan.
I had first heard the name from Emperor Hsien Feng. Tseng Kuo-fan was said to be a level-headed, dogged Chinese in his fifties. He had risen from a poor peasant family and had been appointed in 1852 to command the army in his native Hunan. He was known for his thorough methods of drilling his men. He had successfully suppressed the Taiping strongholds on the Yangtze River, which earned him praise from the anxious and impatient capital. He continued to harden his men, who came to be known as the Hunan Braves. They were the most efficient fighting force in the empire.
It was due to Prince Kung’s encouragement that the Emperor granted General Tseng a private audience.
“Orchid,” Emperor Hsien Feng called as he put on his dragon robe. “Come with me this morning and let me know your impression of Tseng Kuo-fan.” I followed my husband to the Hall of Spiritual Nurturing.
The general rose from his knees and greeted His Majesty. I noticed that he was too nervous to raise his eyes. This was not uncommon during a first Imperial audience. It happened more often among those of Chinese origin. Humble to a fault, they could not believe their ruler was receiving them.
In truth, it was not the Chinese but the Manchus who lacked confidence. Our ancestors may have conquered the mainland by force two centuries before, but we had never mastered the art of ruling. We arrived without the fundamentals, such as Confucian philosophy, which unified the nation through morality and spirituality, and without a system that effectively centralized power. We also lacked a language that allowed the Emperor to communicate with his people, 80 percent of whom were Chinese.
Wisely, our ancestors had adopted Chinese ways. In my view, this was probably unavoidable. The culture was so gracious and broad that it both accepted and served us. Confucian fundamentals continued to dominate the nation. For myself, my first language was Chinese, my eating habits Chinese, my rough schooling Chinese, and my favorite form of entertainment Peking operas!
I had come to realize that the Manchu sense of superiority had betrayed us. Today’s Manchus were as rotten as termite-infested wood. Manchu men were generally spoiled. They no longer knew how to win battles on horseback. Most had become their own enemies. Beneath their proud exterior, they were lazy and insecure. They created difficulties for my husband whenever he wished to promote someone of true talent who happened to be Chinese.
Sadly, they remained the dominant political force. Their opinions influenced Emperor Hsien Feng. Tseng Kuo-fan was the best general in the empire, yet His Majesty was afraid to promote him. This was typical. Any high-ranking Chinese could easily find himself cut off at a moment’s notice. There was never an explanation.
Prince Kung had repeatedly advised the Emperor to rid his administration of discrimination. Kung’s point was that until His Majesty could demonstrate true justice, he would receive no true loyalty. Tseng Kuo-fan illustrated the point. The renowned general didn’t believe that he was here to be honored. The man broke down when Emperor Hsien Feng attempted a light-hearted joke: “Is ‘Head-Chopper Tseng’ your name?”
Tseng Kuo-fan knocked his forehead on the floor and trembled violently.
I tried not to giggle when I heard Tseng’s jewelry clanking.
The Emperor was charmed. “Why don’t you answer my question?”
“I should be punished and die ten thousand times before I soil Your Majesty’s ears with this name,” the man replied.
“No, I wasn’t upset.” Emperor Hsien Feng smiled. “Rise, please. I like the name Head-Chopper Tseng. Would you explain how you got it?”
Drawing a deep breath, the man replied, “Your Majesty, the name was first created by my enemies, and then my men adopted it.”
“Your men must be very proud to serve under you.”
“Yes, indeed, they are.”
“You have honored me, Tseng Kuo-fan. I wish I had more head-choppers as generals!”
When Emperor Hsien Feng invited Tseng to join him for lunch, the man was moved to tears. He said that he could now die and greet his ancestors with pride, because he had brought them great honor.
After a little liquor, General Tseng became relaxed. When I was introduced as the Emperor’s favorite concubine, Tseng fell to his knees and bowed to me. I was very pleased. Many years later, after the death of my husband, when Tseng Kuo-fan and I were both old, I asked him what he had thought of me when we first met. He flattered me and said that he had been stunned by my beauty and unable to think. He asked if I recalled his drinking down a bowl of dirty water-the one used to wash our fingers during the meal.