Hsien Feng’s health seemed to have stabilized a little. As soon as he was able to sit up, Prince Kung sent him drafts of the treaties. I was summoned to help.
“Your brother expects you to honor the terms,” I said, summarizing Prince Kung’s letter to His Majesty. “He says that these are the final documents. Peace and order will be restored after you sign.”
“The barbarians are asking me to reward them for spitting in my face,” Hsien Feng said. “I now understand why my father wouldn’t close his eyes when he died-he couldn’t swallow the insult.”
I waited for him to calm down before I resumed reading. Some of the terms disturbed His Majesty so much that he gasped for air. Bubbling sounds would come from his throat and then he would burst out coughing.
Tiny blood spots covered the floor and the blankets. I didn’t want to go on reading, but the documents had to be returned within ten days. If not, Prince Kung said, the Allies would destroy the capital.
It was no use for Emperor Hsien Feng to beat his chest and shout, “All foreigners are brute beasts!” It was also no use to issue edicts urging the army to fight harder. The situation was irreversible.
Tung Chih watched his father drag himself out of bed and get down on his knees to beg Heaven for help. Again and again Hsien Feng wished he had the courage to take his own life.
It was in the Hall of Literary Zest where the treaties with France and Great Britain were sealed. Both treaties continued to validate the previous Tientsin Treaty, but with items added. It was the first time in several thousand years that China had borne such shame.
Emperor Hsien Feng was forced to open the city of Tientsin as a new trading port. To him this not only allowed the barbarians to trade in his front yard, but also permitted their military access to the capital through the open sea. His Majesty was also forced to “rent” Kowloon to the British as war compensation. The treaties stated that Western missionaries were to be given total freedom and protection to operate in China, which included building churches. Chinese laws would not apply to any foreigners, and violations of the treaties by any Chinese were to be punished swiftly. China was made to pay indemnities of eight million taels to the British and the French.
As if this were not enough, the Russians submitted a new draft of the Sino-Russian Treaty of Peking. The Russian envoy tried to persuade Prince Kung that the burning of the Imperial palaces indicated that China needed military protection from Russia. Although fully aware of what the Russians were up to, Prince Kung couldn’t say no. China was in no position to defend itself and could not afford to make Russia an enemy.
“When a wolf pack hunts down a sick deer, what can the deer do but beg for mercy?” Prince Kung wrote in a letter. The Russians wanted the Amur lands in the north, which the tsarists had already seized. Russians had already settled along the whole of the Ussuri River east to the border of Korea. They had claimed the crucial Chinese port of Haishenwei, soon to be known as Vladivostok.
I will never forget the moment when Emperor Hsien Feng signed the treaties. It was like a death rehearsal.
The brush pen he held seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. His hand couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t bring himself to write his name. To stabilize his elbows I added two more pillows behind his back. Chief Eunuch Shim prepared the ink and laid flat the pages of the treaties in front of him on a rice paper pad.
My sorrow for Hsien Feng and my country was beyond expression. Saliva gathered at the corners of His Majesty’s purple lips. He was crying, but there were no tears. He shouted and screamed for days. Finally his voice simply died. Each breath was now a struggle.
His fingers were like brittle sticks. His frame was no better than a skeleton. He had begun the journey of vanishing into a ghost. His ancestors hadn’t answered his prayers. Heaven had been merciless to its son. In Hsien Feng’s helplessness, however, he demonstrated the dignity of the Emperor of China. His struggle was heroic-the dying man holding on to his brush, refusing to sign China away.
I asked Nuharoo to bring Tung Chih. I wanted him to witness his father’s struggle to perform his duty. Nuharoo rejected the idea. She said that Tung Chih should be exposed to glory, not shame.
I could have fought with Nuharoo. And I almost did. I wanted to tell her that dying was not shameful, nor was having the courage to face reality. Tung Chih’s education should begin at his father’s deathbed. He should watch the signing of the treaties and remember and understand why his father was crying.
Nuharoo reminded me that she was the Empress of the East, the one whose word was the house’s law. I had to retreat.
Chief Eunuch Shim asked if His Majesty cared to test the ink before putting down his stroke. Hsien Feng nodded. I adjusted the rice paper.
The moment the tip of the brush touched the paper Hsien Feng’s hand trembled violently. It started with his fingers, then spread to his arm, his shoulder and his entire body. Sweat soaked through his robe. His eyes rolled up as he drew deeply for breath.
Doctor Sun Pao-tien was summoned. He came in and knelt beside His Majesty. He bent his head over Hsien Feng’s chest and listened.
I stared at Sun Pao-tien’s lips, which were half hidden by his long white beard. I feared what he might say.
“He might slip into a coma.” The doctor rose. “He will wake, but I can’t guarantee how much time he has left.”
For the rest of the day we waited for Hsien Feng to return to consciousness. When he did, I begged him to complete the signature, but he didn’t say a word.
We had reached a deadlock-Emperor Hsien Feng refused to pick up the brush pen. I kept grinding the ink. I wished that Prince Kung were here.
Feeling helpless, I started to cry.
“Orchid.” His Majesty’s voice was barely audible. “I won’t be able to die in peace if I sign.”
I understood. I wouldn’t want to sign either if I were he. But Prince Kung needed the signature to continue negotiating. The Emperor was going to die, but the nation had to go on. China had to get back on its feet.
In the afternoon Hsien Feng decided to yield. It was only after I said that his signature would not be an endorsement for invasion but a tactic to gain time.
He picked up the brush pen but was unable to see where on the paper he was to put his signature.
“Guide my hand, Orchid,” he said, and tried to sit up, but collapsed instead.
The three of us-Chief Eunuch Shim, An-te-hai and I-laid His Majesty down on his back. I put the paper near his hand and told him that he could ink his signature now.
With his eyes fixed on the ceiling, Emperor Hsien Feng wiggled the brush. I carefully guided his strokes to prevent his signature from looking like a child’s scribble. By the time we covered his name with the red Imperial seal, Hsien Feng had dropped the brush pen and passed out. The ink stone fell and black ink splattered all over my dress and shoes.
In July of 1861 we celebrated Hsien Feng’s thirtieth birthday. His Majesty lay in his bed and drifted in and out of consciousness. No guests were invited. The birthday ceremony included a food parade. The dishes were barely touched; everyone sensed his coming death.
A month later, Hsien Feng seemed to hit bottom. Doctor Sun Pao-tien predicted that His Majesty’s demise was a week, perhaps days, away. The court grew tense because the Emperor had not named his successor.
Tung Chih was not allowed to be with his father because the court was afraid it would be too disturbing. This upset me. I believed that any affection demonstrated by His Majesty would sustain Tung Chih’s memory for the rest of his life.
Nuharoo accused me of placing a curse on Hsien Feng by telling Tung Chih that his father was going to die. Her astrologer believed that only when we refused to accept his death would Hsien Feng be saved by a miracle.