Chapter XXIII: The Return of the Court to Peking

The state of mind of the Empress Dowager during the flight from the Capital, and subsequently while the Court remained in exile at Hsi-an, was marked by that same quality of indecision and vacillating impulse which had characterised her actions throughout the Boxer crisis and the siege of Peking. This may be ascribed partly to her advancing age and partly to the conflicting influences of astrologers and fortune-tellers, to whose advice she attached the greatest importance in all times of peril. We have dealt in another place with her marked susceptibility to omens and superstitious beliefs; its effect is most noticeable, however, at this stage of her life, and was conspicuous in matters of small detail throughout the return journey to Peking.

The influence of Jung Lu at Hsi-an, and that of Li Hung-chang at Peking, had been systematically exercised to induce Her Majesty to return to the Capital; but until the Peace Protocol conditions had been definitely arranged, and until she had been persuaded to decree adequate punishment upon the Boxer leaders, the predominant feeling in her mind was evidently one of suspicion and fear, as was shown when she ordered the hurried flight from T’ai-yüan fu to Hsi-an. The influence of Li Hung-chang, who, from the outset, had realised the folly committed by the Chinese Government in approving the attack upon the Legations, was exercised to create in the mind of Her Majesty a clearer sense of the folly of that policy. At the height of the crisis (21st July, 1900), realising that the foreign forces brought to bear upon China were steadily defeating both Boxers and Imperial troops, she appointed Li Hung-chang to be Viceroy of Chihli, and directed that he should proceed from Canton with all haste, there being urgent need of the services of a diplomat versed in foreign affairs. Her Majesty went so far as to suggest that he should proceed from Shanghai to Tientsin in a Russian vessel which “he might borrow for the purpose.” Li Hung-chang’s reply, telegraphed to Yüan Shih-k’ai for transmission to the Throne, while outwardly respectful, clearly implies that Her Majesty has been to blame for the disasters then occurring. “I am sincerely grateful,” he says, “for Your Majesty’s gratifying confidence in me, but cannot help recalling to mind the folly which has now suddenly destroyed that structure of reformed administration which, during my twenty years’ term of office as Viceroy of Chihli, I was able to build up not unsuccessfully. I fear it will not be possible for me to resume the duties of this difficult post at a time of crisis like the present, destitute as I am of all proper and material resources.” He proceeds even to criticise Her Majesty’s suggestion as to his journey, observing that “Russia possesses no vessel at Shanghai, and would certainly refuse to lend if she had one, in view of the state of war now existing.” Finally, he excuses himself for deferring his departure, on the ground that the British Minister had requested him not to leave until the foreign Ministers had been safely escorted from Peking to Tientsin. “I do not know,” says he, “if any such arrangements for safely escorting them can be made,” and therefore concludes by asking Yüan to inform the Throne that he will start northwards, journeying by land, “as soon as his health permits it.” To this plain-spoken message from the great Viceroy, Tzŭ Hsi replied in two lines of equally characteristic directness:—“Li Hung-chang is to obey our earlier Decree, and to make all haste northwards. The crisis is serious. Let him make no further excuses for delay.”

In spite of these peremptory orders, Li Hung-chang, who had a very definite conception of his own predicament, remained at Shanghai, ostensibly negotiating, but in reality waiting, to see what would be the outcome of the siege of the Legations. He was interviewed by _The Times_ correspondent at Shanghai on the 23rd of July, and then stated that he would not proceed to his post in the north until convinced by clear proofs that the Empress Dowager had seen the folly of her ways, and was prepared to adopt a conciliatory policy towards the outraged foreign Powers. At the end of July, when it became clear to him that the Court had determined on flight, he forwarded by special courier a very remarkable Memorial, in which he called the Throne to task in the plainest possible terms, and urged an immediate change of policy. This Memorial reached the Empress before her departure from Peking; certain extracts from it are well worth reproduction, as showing Li Hung-chang at his best, and displaying that quality of courageous intelligence which made him for twenty years the foremost official in China and a world-wide celebrity:—

“It is to be remembered that between this, our Empire of
China, and the outer barbarians, hostilities have frequently
occurred since the remotest antiquity, and our national history
teaches that the best way to meet them is to determine upon
our policy only after carefully ascertaining their strength
as compared with our own. Since the middle of the reign of
Tao-Kuang the pressure of the barbarians on our borders has
steadily increased, and to-day we are brought to desperate
straits indeed. In 1860 they invaded the Capital and burnt the
Summer Palace; His Majesty Hsien-Feng was forced to flee, and
thus came to his death. It is only natural that His Majesty’s
posterity should long to avenge him to the end of time, and
that your subjects should continue to cherish undying hopes of
revenge. But since that time, France has taken from us Annam,
the whole of that dependency being irretrievably lost; Japan
has fought us, and ousted us from Korea. Even worse disasters
and loss of territory were, however, to follow: Germany
seized Kiaochao; Russia followed by annexing Port Arthur and
Talienwan; England demanded Wei-hei-wei and Kowloon, together
with the extension of the Shanghai Settlements, and the opening
of new treaty ports inland; and France made further demands
for Kuang-Chou wan. How could we possibly maintain silence
under such grievous and repeated acts of aggression? Craven
would be the man who would not seek to improve our defences,
and shameless would be he who did not long for the day of
reckoning. I myself have enjoyed no small favours from the
Throne, and much is expected of me by the nation. Needless for
me to say how greatly I would rejoice were it possible for
China to enter upon a glorious and triumphant war; it would
be the joy of my closing days to see the barbarian nations
subjugated at last in submissive allegiance, respectfully
making obeisance to the Dragon Throne. Unfortunately, however,
I cannot but recognise the melancholy fact that China is
unequal to any such enterprise, and that our forces are in
no way competent to undertake it. Looking at the question as
one affecting chiefly the integrity of our Empire, who would
be so foolish as to cast missiles at a rat in the vicinity
of a priceless piece of porcelain? It requires no augur’s
skill in divination to foresee that eggs are more easily to
be cracked than stones. Let us consider one recent incident
in proof of this conclusion. Recently, in the attack by some
tens of thousands of Boxers and Imperial troops upon the
foreign Settlements at Tientsin, there were some two or three
thousand foreign soldiers to defend them; yet, after ten days
of desperate fighting, only a few hundred foreigners had been
slain, while no less than twenty thousand Chinese were killed
and as many more wounded. Again, there are no real defences
or fortified positions in the Legations at Peking, nor are
the foreign Ministers and their Legation staffs trained in
the use of arms; nevertheless, Tung Fu-hsiang’s hordes have
been bombarding them for more than a month, and have lost many
thousands of men in the vain attempt to capture the position.

“The fleets of the Allied Powers are now hurrying forward vast
bodies of their troops; the heaviest artillery is now being
brought swiftly to our shores. Has China the forces to meet
them? Does she possess a single leader capable of resisting
this invasion? If the foreign Powers send 100,000 men, they
will easily capture Peking, and Your Majesties will then find
escape impossible. You will no doubt endeavour once more to
flee to Jehol, but on this occasion you have no commander
like Sheng Pao to hold back the enemies’ forces from pursuit;
or, perhaps, you may decide to hold another Peace Conference,
like that at Shimonoseki, in 1895? But the conditions to-day
existing are in no way similar to those of that time,
when Marquis Ito was willing to meet me as your Minister
Plenipotentiary. When betrayed by the Boxers and abandoned
by all, where will your Majesties find a single Prince,
Councillor, or Statesman able to assist you effectively? The
fortunes of your house are being staked upon a single throw;
my blood runs cold at the thought of events to come. Under
any enlightened Sovereign these Boxers, with their ridiculous
claims of supernatural powers, would most assuredly have been
condemned to death long since. Is it not on record that the Han
Dynasty met its end because of its belief in magicians, and in
their power to confer invisibility? Was not the Sung Dynasty
destroyed because the Emperor believed ridiculous stories about
supernatural warriors clad in miraculous coats of mail?

“I myself am nearly eighty years of age, and my death cannot
be far distant; I have received favours at the hands of four
Emperors. If now I hesitate to say the things that are in my
mind, how shall I face the spirits of the sacred ancestors of
this Dynasty when we meet in the halls of Hades? I am compelled
therefore to give utterance to this my solemn prayer, and to
beseech Your Majesties to put away from you at once these vile
magic workers, and to have them summarily executed.

“You should take steps immediately to appoint a high official
who shall purge the land of this villainous rabble, and who
shall see to it that the foreign Ministers are safely escorted
to the headquarters of the Allied Armies. In spite of the great
heat, I have hurried northwards from Canton to Shanghai, where
your Majesties’ Decrees urging me to come to Peking have duly
reached me. Any physical weakness, however serious, would not
have deterred me from obeying this summons, but perusal of your
Decrees has led me to the conclusion that Your Majesties have
not yet adopted a policy of reason, but are still in the hands
of traitors, regarding these Boxers as your dutiful subjects,
with the result that unrest is spreading and alarm universal.
Moreover, I am here in Shanghai without a single soldier under
my command, and even should I proceed with all haste in the
endeavour to present myself at your Palace gates, I should meet
with innumerable dangers by the way, and the end of my journey
would most probably be that I should provide your rebellious
and turbulent subjects with one more carcass to hack into
mincemeat. I shall therefore continue in residence here for
the present, considering ways and means for raising a military
force and for furnishing supplies, as well as availing myself
of the opportunity of ascertaining the enemies’ plans, and
making such diplomatic suggestions as occur to me to be useful.
As soon as my plans are complete, I shall proceed northwards
with all possible speed.”

The plain-spoken advice of Li Hung-chang was not without effect on the Empress Dowager. The Decrees issued by her in the name of the Emperor from Huai-lai on the 19th and 20th of August are the first indications given to the outside world that she had definitely decided on a policy of conciliation so as to render possible her eventual return to the capital—an event which, as she foresaw, would probably be facilitated by the inevitable differences and jealousies already existing among the Allies.

In the Edict of the 19th of August, after explaining that the whole Boxer crisis and the attack on the Legations was the result of differences between Christian and non-Christian Chinese, she querulously complains that the foreign Powers, although doubtless well meaning in their efforts to “exterminate the rebels,” are behaving in a manner which suggests aggressive designs towards China, and which shows a lamentable disregard of proper procedure and friendliness. She naively observes that the Chinese Government had been at the greatest pains to protect the lives and property of foreigners in Peking, in spite of many difficulties, and expresses much surprise at such an evil return being made for her invariable kindness and courtesy. If it were not for the unbounded capacity of foreign diplomats, fully proved in the past, in the matter of credulity where Chinese statecraft is concerned, it would be difficult to regard utterances like these as the work of an intelligent ruler. But Tzŭ Hsi was, as usual, justified, for at the very time when these Decrees were issued, Russia was already using very similar arguments, and making excuses for the Chinese government, in pursuance of her own policy at Peking.

In the conclusion of the Decree above referred to, Her Majesty orders Jung Lu, Hsü T’ung and Ch’ung Ch’i to remain in Peking to act as peace negotiators, but she admits that, in dealing with foreigners supported by troops and flushed with success, it may be difficult for them at the outset to determine on a satisfactory line of procedure. She leaves it to these plenipotentiaries, therefore, to determine whether the best course would be to telegraph to the respective Foreign Offices of the countries concerned, or to consult with the Consuls-General at Shanghai (_sic_), with a view to obtaining friendly intervention! It could not escape so shrewd a person as Tzŭ Hsi that the atmosphere of Peking at this juncture was not likely to be favourable to her purposes, and that it would be easier to hoodwink the Foreign Offices and the Consuls at Shanghai than those who had just been through the siege.

A Decree of the following day, also in the name of the Emperor, is couched in a very different strain—a pathetic admission of the Throne’s guilt, a plea for the sympathy of his people, and an exhortation to return to ways of wisdom. “Cleanse your hearts, and remove all doubt and suspicion from your minds, so as to assist us, the Emperor, in our shortcomings. We have been utterly unworthy, but the time is at hand when it shall be for us to prove that Heaven has not left us without sense of our errors and deep remorse.” The whole document reads with an unusual ring of sincerity, accepting, in the name of the Emperor, full blame for all the disasters which had overtaken the country, while reminding the official class that the first cause of these calamities dates back to the time when they learned and adopted habits of inveterate sloth and luxury. From depths of contrition, the Edict admits fully the Throne’s responsibility, “We, the Lord of this Empire, have failed utterly in warding off calamities from our people, and we should not hesitate for one moment to commit suicide, in order to placate our tutelary deities and the gods of the soil, but we cannot forget that duty of filial piety and service which we owe to our sacred and aged mother, the Empress Dowager.”

The policy of reform is now clearly enunciated and outlined as an essential condition of the future government of the Empire. Provincial and metropolitan officials are ordered to proceed at once to join the Court, in order that the reform programme may be speedily initiated; the Yangtsze Viceroys are thanked for preserving order in accordance with “treaty stipulations,” and Chinese converts to Christianity are once more assured of the Throne’s protection and good-will.

These utterances of the Throne, which lost nothing in their presentation to the respective Powers by Prince Ch’ing and his colleagues, soon produced the desired effect, and reassured the Throne and its advisers as to their personal safety. Accordingly, early in September, we find all the Viceroys and high officials of the Provinces uniting in a Memorial, whereby the Court is urged to return at once to the Capital, advice which would never have been given had there been any question of violent measures being taken by the Allies against the Empress Dowager. At this time the question of the future location of the Chinese Capital was being widely discussed at Court, and there was much conflicting advice on the subject. The Viceroys’ Memorial was drafted by Yüan Shih-k’ai and forwarded by him to Liu K’un-yi, at Nanking, for transmission; it definitely blames the Boxers and their leaders for the ruin which had come upon China, and rejoices at the thought that “the perplexities which embarrassed your Majesties in the past have now given place to a clearer understanding of the situation.” Noting the possibility of the Court’s leaving T’ai-yüan fu and making “a further progress” westwards to Hsi-an, the Memorialists deplore the idea and proceed to show that such a step would be unwise as well as inconvenient. As an example of the way in which Chinese Ministers of State deal with questions of high policy and strategy, the following extract from this Memorial is not without interest:—

“It is true that, in times past, our Capital has been shifted
on more than one occasion of national danger, but in those
days our enemies were not able to push their armies far into
the interior of our country for indefinite periods, and were
compelled to withdraw after brief expeditions. The position
of affairs to-day, however, is very different, so that we can
obtain no reliable guidance from precedents of history. As
regards the province of Shensi, it has always been a centre of
wars and rebellions; its people are poverty stricken, and there
is no trade there. Seven centuries ago, Hsi-an was an Imperial
city, but is now anything but prosperous. Its vicinity to Kansu
and the New Dominion territories, infested with Mahomedan
rebels and adjoining the Russian Empire, renders it most
unsuitable as a site for your Majesties’ Capital. Supposing
that the Allies, flushed with success, should determine on an
advance westwards, what is there to prevent them from doing so?
If ten thousand miles of ocean have not stopped them, are they
likely to be turned back from a shorter expedition by land?”

After referring to the fact that the cradle of the Dynasty and the tombs of its ancestors are situated near Peking, and that it is geographically best fitted to be the centre of Government, the Memorialists remind the Throne that the foreign Powers have promised to vacate Peking, and to refrain from annexing any territory if the Court will return. These ends, they say, will not be attained should the Court persist in its intention to proceed further westwards, since it is now the desire of the foreign Ministers that China’s rulers should return to Peking. In the event of a permanent occupation of Peking by the Allies, the loss of Manchuria would be inevitable. The Memorialists predict partition and many other disasters, including financial distress, and the impossibility of furnishing the Throne with supplies at Hsi-an or any other remote corner of the Empire. If the Court’s decision to proceed to Hsi-an is irrevocable, at least a Decree should now be issued, stating that its sojourn there will be a brief one, and that the Court will return to Peking upon the complete restoration of peaceful conditions. “The continued existence of the Empire must depend upon the Throne’s decision upon this matter.” The Memorial concludes by imploring their Majesties to authorise Prince Ch’ing to inform the foreign Ministers that the withdrawal of the allied armies will be followed by a definite announcement as to the Court’s return.

In a further Memorial from the Viceroys and Governors, it is stated that the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs had suggested to the Chinese Minister in St. Petersburg, that the location of the Capital at Hsi-an would certainly prove undesirable, in view of the poverty-stricken condition of the province, and that their Majesties would no doubt, therefore, proceed to Lan-chou fu, in Kansu. Referring to this interesting fact, the Memorialists observe:—

“Those who are in favour of establishing the Capital at Hsi-an
profess to claim that the Yellow River and the T’ung Kuan Pass
constitute natural and impassible frontiers against attack.
They forget, however, that foreign nations possess artillery of
very long range. At T’ung Kuan the Yellow River is less than
two miles wide, and their guns will easily carry twice that
distance. Your Majesties have nothing but the native artillery,
and a few inferior foreign guns, and would never be able to
hold the position. The foreigners would undoubtedly penetrate
far into the interior, and control all the waterways, thus
preventing transport and supplies. Even if one foreign Power
were to find it difficult, there is no doubt that it would be
easy for several of them acting together.

“Moreover, friendly Powers are entitled, by the law of
civilised nations, to send their diplomatic representatives
to our Capital. If peace be made, and the foreign Powers
assent to the proposed change of capital, they will surely
insist upon sending their envoys into Shensi. After their
recent experiences, they will require to have foreign troops
to guard their Legations, whose numbers must necessarily be
large, in proportion to the distance from the coast. Foreign
garrisons would thus have to be established at points in
Honan, Shansi and Chihli, in order to maintain their line of
communications, so that China would eventually be overrun by
foreign troops. It is, therefore, plainly out of the question
that the Court should leave Peking. In times of peace it might
have been suggested, but to think of it after a disastrous
war is impossible. The foreigners are acting in unison;
China is completely disorganised. They have ample resources
and reinforcements; China has none. If we have thoughts of
fighting any foreign Power we must first form alliances with
several others; in any case nothing can be done before an ample
supply of ordnance and munitions of war has been accumulated.
This is no time for considering such possibilities. We, your
Memorialists, venture to suggest that Your Majesties have
failed to take into consideration all these facts, and in
impressing them upon you, we earnestly beg that you may now
come to a wise decision.”

Before coming to a decision, however, Tzŭ Hsi required to be fully assured that the foreign Powers would not insist on her abdicating the supreme power as one of the conditions of peace. Convinced on that point, the hesitation which she had previously shown in regard to returning to Peking dropped from her like a garment. It had been freely predicted by conservative officials and the _literati_ that the Old Buddha would never again wish to see her desecrated capital or to visit the polluted shrines of her ancestors. In spite of her superstitious nature, however, she was far too level-headed and far-seeing a woman to attach supreme importance to sentimental considerations, or to allow them to weigh heavily in the balance when the question of her own rulership was at stake. The hesitation which she had shown and the attention which she had paid to the advice of those who, like Chang Chih-tung, desired her to establish a new capital in Central China, were primarily a question of “face.” She would only return to Peking if guaranteed the full dignity and power of her former position. But as the peace negotiations proceeded, and as it became clear to her that along the well-worn path of international jealousies she might return unpunished, and even welcomed, to Peking, she proceeded to make preparations for an early return. Fully informed each day by Prince Ch’ing of the progress which her plenipotentiaries were making towards the completion of the Peace Protocol, and overjoyed at its terms, she waited only until the condition of the roads, always more or less impassable after the summer rains, had sufficiently improved to permit of comfortable travelling. During the delay necessitated by the collecting and packing of the enormous quantity of “tribute” collected by Her Majesty and the Court during their stay at Hsi-an, she received definite confirmation of the good news that her treasure vaults in the capital had not been plundered by the foreign troops—good news which increased her anxiety to return as quickly as possible to superintend its removal before any pilfering by the eunuchs should take place.

It was on the 24th day of the 8th Moon (20th October, 1901) that the long procession started from Her Majesty’s temporary residence in the Governor’s Yamên; followed by an enormous retinue, she commenced her journey by sacrificing to the God of War, the guardian spirit of her Dynasty (and, it may be added, patron of the Boxers), at a small temple outside the city gates. From this onward the Court advanced northward by easy stages of about twenty-five miles a day, resting first at Ho-nan fu; thence on to K’ai-fêng, where her sixty-sixth birthday was celebrated and where she remained for some weeks. The travelling lodges and other arrangements for her comfort and convenience along the whole line of her route were in striking contrast to the squalor and privation which the Court had endured in the flight from Peking.

It was during her stay at K’ai-fêng that the Peace Protocol was signed at Peking. It was also before her departure from that city, at the end of the 9th Moon, that Li Hung-chang died. His knowledge of foreign affairs and remarkable ability in negotiations had been of the greatest service to his Imperial mistress, and there is no doubt that the liberal terms granted to China by the victorious Allies were very largely due to his efforts. Her Majesty, while fully appreciating his ability, had never treated him with marked favour, and had always refused to appoint him to the Grand Council, giving as her excuse that she could not understand his dialect. Upon his death, however, she conferred upon him an honour which had never before been granted to any Chinese subject under the Dynasty, namely, that of having a shrine built to his memory at the capital itself, in addition to those erected in the provinces where he had borne office.

It was significant of her impartial and intelligent rulership that, although she had blamed him as originally responsible for the Japanese War and its disastrous results, she had never approved of the Emperor’s hasty and vindictive action in removing him from the Viceroyalty of Chihli. Upon the signing of the Peace Protocol she conferred additional posthumous honours upon him, taking occasion at the same time, in an Imperial Decree, to congratulate and thank Prince Ch’ing, Yüan Shih-k’ai and others, who assisted in bringing about the settlement of peace terms. In particular she praised the loyalty of Jung Lu, “who had earnestly advised the annihilation of the Boxers, and who, in addition to other meritorious services on the Grand Council, had been chiefly instrumental in protecting the Legations.”

After a series of magnificent theatrical entertainments in honour of her birthday, the Court left K’ai-fêng and continued its journey to the capital. On the eve of her departure Her Majesty took occasion sternly and publicly to rebuke the Manchu Prefect, Wen T’i,[121] who had dared to advise her against returning to the capital, and to predict that the treacherous foreigners would certainly seize her sacred person—a useful piece of play to the gallery.

At the crossing of the Yellow River, which took place in beautiful weather, she sacrificed to the River God, in expiation and thanksgiving. The local officials had constructed a magnificent barge, in the form of a dragon, upon which she and the ladies of the Court crossed the stream. It was noticed from this point onwards that wherever foreigners happened to be amongst the spectators of the Imperial cortège, she made a point of showing them particular attention and civility, and before her arrival in Peking she issued a Decree commanding that Europeans should not be prevented from watching the procession upon her arrival, and this in spite of the fact that, in accordance with the usual custom, the Legations had issued notices forbidding their nationals to appear in the streets during the passage of the Imperial cortège. Everything indicated, in fact, that Her Majesty now desired to conciliate the European Powers by all possible means, and if it be borne in mind that it was part of her deliberate policy thus to ingratiate herself with foreigners as a means of furthering her own future policy, her actions lose nothing of interest, while they gain something from the humorous point of view.

On crossing the borders of the Province of Chihli, Her Majesty issued a Decree, couched in almost effusive terms of friendliness, proclaiming that the Emperor would receive the foreign Ministers in audience immediately upon his return to the Palace, and that the reception would take place in the central Throne Hall of the sacred enclosure. Chinese, reading this Decree, and ignorant of the terms of the Peace Protocol which provided for this particular concession to the barbarian, would naturally regard it as a spontaneous mark of the Imperial clemency and goodwill. In the same Edict Her Majesty proclaimed her intention of receiving the Ministers’ wives in person, intimating that she cherished most pleasant memories of past friendly intercourse with them. Here, again, we note fulfilment of a plan, deliberately conceived and formed upon the best classical models, “for dealing with strong and savage people.”

At noon on the 6th of January, 1902, the Imperial party arrived by special train at the temporary station which had been erected close to the Southern walls of Peking, and adjoining the old terminus at Ma-chia pu. Large pavilions, handsomely decorated, had been erected near the station, in which the Old Buddha and the Emperor were to be received; they were furnished with a throne of gold lacquer, cloisonné altar vessels and many valuable pieces of porcelain. Several hundreds of the highest metropolitan officials were in attendance, and a special place had been provided for foreigners. As the long train of over thirty carriages drew up at the station, the keen face of the Old Buddha was seen anxiously scanning her surroundings from one of the windows of her car. With her were the young Empress and the Princess Imperial, while the chief eunuch, Li Lien-ying, was in attendance. Recognising Her Majesty, every official fell upon his knees, whilst Chi Lu, chief officer of the Household, officiously shouted to the foreigners to remove their hats (which they had already done). The first to emerge from the train was the chief eunuch, who proceeded forthwith to check the long list of provincial tribute and treasure, mountainous loads of baggage which had travelled with the Court from the start and under Her Majesty’s close personal supervision. After the eunuch came the Emperor, evidently extremely nervous, who, at a sign from Her Majesty, hurried into his sedan-chair and was swiftly borne away, without a word or a sign of recognition to any of the officials in attendance. After his departure, the Empress came out and stood upon the platform at the end of her carriage. “Quite a number of foreigners are here, I see,” she was heard to observe. She saluted them in accordance with the etiquette observed by Chinese women—bowing and raising her crossed hands. Prince Ch’ing then advanced to greet Her Majesty, and with him Wang Wen-shao (who had succeeded Li Hung-chang as Peace Plenipotentiary). They invited Her Majesty to enter her chair: “There is no hurry,” she replied. She stood for some five minutes in full view of the crowd, talking energetically with the bystanders, and looking extremely well and youthful for her age, until the chief eunuch returned and handed her the list of baggage and treasure, which she scanned with close attention and then returned to him with an expression of satisfaction.

After this, at the request of the Viceroy of Chihli (Yüan Shih-k’ai), the foreign manager and engineer of the railway were presented to her, and received her thanks for the satisfactory arrangements made throughout the journey. She then entered her chair, a larger and finer conveyance than that supplied to the Emperor, and was borne away towards the Palace; by her side ran one of her favourite eunuchs repeatedly calling Her Majesty’s attention to objects of interest. Whenever foreigners were in sight he would inform Her Majesty of the fact, and by one he was heard distinctly to say: “Look! Old Buddha, look quickly at that foreign devil,” whereupon the Empress smiled and bowed most affably. Passing through the Southern gate of the Chinese city, her bearers carried her straight to the large enceinte of the Tartar city wall at the Ch’ienmen, where stands the shrine dedicated to the tutelary God of the Manchus. Here crowds of foreigners were in waiting on the wall. Looking down on the courtyard towards the shrine, they saw the Old Buddha leave her chair and fall upon her knees to burn incense before the image of the God of War, whilst several Taoist priests chanted the ritual. Rising she next looked up towards the foreigners, smiling and bowing, before she was carried away through the gate into the precincts of the Forbidden City. No sooner had she reached the inner palace (the Ning Shou kung) at about 2 P.M., than she commanded the eunuchs to commence digging up the treasure which had been buried there at the time of her flight; she was gratified beyond measure to find that it had indeed remained untouched.

Next, with an eye not only upon her future relations with foreigners but also on public opinion throughout the Empire, she issued a Decree conferring posthumous honours on the “Pearl concubine,” who, as it will be remembered, was thrown down a well by her orders on the morning of the Court’s flight from the Palace. In this Decree Her Majesty praises the virtue and admirable courage of the dead woman, which “led her virtuously to commit suicide when unable to catch up the Court on its departure,” unwilling as she was to witness the destruction and pollution of the ancestral shrines. Her trustworthy conduct was therefore rewarded by the granting of a posthumous title and by promotion of one step in rank in the Imperial harem. The Decree was generally regarded as fulfilling all reasonable requirements of atonement towards the deceased, for in China the dead yet live and move in a shadowy, but none the less real, hierarchy. Alive, a “Pearl concubine” more or less counted for little when weighed against the needs of the Old Buddha’s policies; once dead, however, her spirit must needs be conciliated and compensated.

Many Europeans who had witnessed the arrival of the Empress Dowager, remained at the railway station to see the unloading of her long baggage train, a most interesting and instructive sight. First were discharged the yellow chairs of the young Empress and the Princess Imperial, and four green chairs with yellow borders for the principal concubines; the other ladies of the Court followed in official carts, two to each vehicle. There were about ninety of them altogether, and the arrangements for their conveyance were accompanied by no little noise and confusion, the loquacity of some of the elder ladies being most noticeable. After their departure the attention of the eunuchs and minor officials was directed to the huge pile of the Empress Dowager’s personal baggage, which included her cooking utensils and household articles in daily use. This operation, as well as the removal of a very large quantity of bullion, (every case of which was marked with the name of the province or city that had sent it as tribute), was for a time superintended by the Grand Council. But as the work was enough to last for several hours, it was not long before, led by Jung Lu, they entered their chairs and left for the City. It was noticed that Jung Lu seemed very infirm, and was supported as he walked by two attendants of almost gigantic stature.

From Cheng-ting fu to Pao-ting fu, and thence to Peking, the Court travelled, for the first time in its history, by train. The following description of the journey is reprinted, by kind permission of the editor of _The Times_, from an article published in that paper in March, 1902. It shows an interesting side of the Empress Dowager’s character, that of the thrifty mistress of her goods and chattels, and gives a clear-cut impression of that vigorous personality which devoted the same close attention to details of transport and domestic economy as to niceties of Court ceremonial or historical precedents on vital questions of State; characteristics which inevitably suggest a marked resemblance between the Old Buddha and _le petit Caporal_.

“Early on December 31st the Court arrived at Cheng-ting fu,
escorted by a large body of cavalry and accompanied by an
enormous suite of officials, eunuchs and servants. The baggage
was carried by a train of carts, estimated by an eye-witness
at three thousand. The eunuchs numbered between three and four
hundred, and of cooks and other kitchen servants there were
almost as many. To provide accommodation for such a mass of
people was impossible, especially as all the best quarters
in the town had already been occupied by the high officials
who, with their retainers, had come from the north to welcome
the Empress Dowager on her return. For three days the Court
rested in Cheng-ting fu, during which time the scene was one
of indescribable confusion; baggage, stacked haphazard, filled
every available corner, eunuchs and servants camping around
and upon it, stolidly enduring much physical discomfort with
the apathy peculiar to Asiatics. Yet, so great was the cold
(on the night of January 1st the thermometer stood at two
degrees (Fahrenheit) below zero) that many of these wayfarers
gave way to lamentations and tears. Officials of the lower and
middle grades, unable to obtain a lodging, were compelled to
pass these days in such makeshift shelter as they could find
in the vicinity of the railway station, where swarmed a mob of
undisciplined soldiery. On the second night a fire broke out in
the stables of the Imperial residence, which, though eventually
checked before much damage was done, added greatly to the
general disorder, and might well have had serious results in
the absence of all organisation and control. The definite
announcement of the Court’s intention to leave for Pao-ting fu
on the 3rd of January was received with unmistakable relief by
the hungry, motley crowd which represented the pomp and pride
of Asia’s greatest Empire.

“From the Yellow River to the railway terminus at Cheng-ting
fu—a distance of about two hundred and fifty miles—the
ever-growing Imperial procession had travelled almost
continuously in chairs, litters, carts, and on horse-back,
affording a spectacle which recalled in many of its chief
characteristics those of Europe’s mediæval pageantry as
described by Scott. Every Manchu Prince had a retinue of
horsemen varying from thirty to a hundred in number; along the
frost-bound, uneven tracks which serve for roads in Northern
China, an unending stream of laden waggons creaked and groaned
through the short winter’s day, and on, guided by soldier
torch-bearers, through bitter nights to the appointed stopping
places. But for the Empress Dowager and the Emperor, with
the Chief Eunuch and the ladies of the Court, there was easy
journeying and a way literally made smooth. Throughout its
entire distance the road over which the Imperial palanquins
were borne had been converted into a smooth, even surface of
shining clay, soft and noiseless under foot; not only had every
stone been removed, but as the procession approached gangs of
men were employed in brushing the surface with feather brooms.
At intervals of about ten miles well-appointed rest-houses
had been built, where all manner of food was prepared. The
cost of this King’s highway, quite useless, of course, for
the ordinary traffic of the country, was stated by a native
contractor to amount roughly to fifty Mexican dollars for every
eight yards—say £1,000 a mile—the clay having to be carried in
some places from a great distance. As an example of the lavish
expenditure of the Court and its officials, in a land where
squalor is a pervading feature, this is typical.

“The hour for leaving Cheng-ting fu was fixed by the Empress
Dowager at 9.30 A.M. on January 3rd. It is significant of the
character of this remarkable woman, now in her sixty-seventh
year, that even in matters of detail she leaves nothing to
chance, nothing to others; the long arm of her unquestioned
authority reaches from the Throne literally to the servants’
quarters. Without creating any impression of fussiness,
she makes a distinctly feminine personality felt, and the
master-mind which has guided the destinies of China for the
last forty years by no means disdains to concern itself in
minor questions of household commissariat and transport. It is
impossible not to reflect what such a woman might have been,
what she might have done for her people, had there come into
her life some accident or influence to show her, in their true
light, the corruption, dishonesty, and cold-blooded cruelty of
her reign.

“The departure of the Court by a special train, long since
prepared for its reception by the Belgian railway authorities
and Sheng Hsüan-huai, was fixed for 9.30 A.M. in accordance
with Her Majesty’s orders; that Imperial and imperious lady,
however, made her appearance at the station at seven o’clock,
accompanied by the young Empress, the Imperial concubine,
and the ladies-in-waiting. The Emperor had preceded her, and
upon her arrival knelt on the platform to perform respectful
obeisance, in the presence of an interested crowd. The next
two hours were spent by the Empress, who showed no signs of
fatigue, in supervision of the arrangements for despatching
the vast accumulation of her personal baggage, and in holding
informal audiences with various high dignitaries, military
and civil, on the platform. Amongst others she sent for M.
Jadot, and spent some time in friendly conversation with him,
expressing great satisfaction at the excellent arrangements
made for her comfort, and pleasure at exchanging the sedan
chair for her luxuriously-appointed drawing-room car. She took
pains to impress upon the engineer-in-chief the importance
which she attached to keeping the Court’s baggage and effects
within reach, evincing on this subject much determination of a
good-humoured kind.

“Eventually, after the despatch of four freight trains, her
mind was relieved of this anxiety, but it was to be clearly
understood that the same personal supervision would be
exercised at Pao-ting fu, for in no circumstances could the
impedimenta be sent on in advance to Peking. There is a touch
of feminine nature in this incident which can hardly fail to
bring the Empress Dowager into some degree of kinship with
her fellow-women in other lands; there is also an implied
reflection on the honesty of persons in attendance on the Court
which is not without significance.

“The scene upon the platform was one of remarkable interest.
In utter subversion of all accepted ideas in regard to the
seclusion and privacy in which the Chinese Court is supposed to
live, move, and have its being, there was on this occasion—and
indeed throughout the journey—no sign of either attempt or
wish to guard Their Majesties from observation and intrusion.
The crowd, quietly inquisitive, but showing no inclination
to demonstration of any sort, came and went at its pleasure;
Yüan Shih-kai’s braves, who to the number of about a thousand
travelled to Peking as the Empress Dowager’s bodyguard,
crowded around the Imperial party, invading even their railway
carriages. While the ruler of the Empire held audience with
some of its highest officials, none of their retainers were
employed, as might have been expected, in keeping the people
at a respectful distance; the scene, in fact, bore striking
testimony to that democratic side of the Chinese character
which cannot but impress itself on every foreign visitor to
a Viceroy’s or magistrate’s yamên; in the present instance,
however, it must have been, for all concerned, a new and
remarkable experience.

“To the native spectators, the ladies of the Court with
their eunuch attendants were as much objects of interest
as the foreign railway officials; the Imperial concubine,
‘Chin’ (or ‘Lustrous’) Kuei fei, a lively young person of
pleasing appearance, attracting much attention. This lady,
gaily clad and with lavishly painted face, bestowed upon
everything connected with the train an amount of attention
which augurs well for the future of railway enterprise in
China, running from car to car and chatting volubly with the
ladies-in-waiting. All the ladies of the Court wore pearls in
profusion—those of the Empress being particularly fine—and all
smoked cigarettes in place of the time-honoured water-pipe.
Herein again, for the optimistically inclined, may be found a
harbinger of progress. During the Empress Dowager’s audiences,
lasting sometimes over a quarter of an hour at a time, the
Emperor stood close at her side; invariably silent, generally
listless, though his expression when animated is described
as conveying an impression of remarkable intelligence. The
young Empress has good features, marred, in European eyes, by
excessive use of paint; she, too, appeared to be melancholy,
and showed but little interest in her surroundings. The Emperor
and both Empresses were simply dressed in quiet coloured silks.

“The special train in which, punctually at 9.30 A.M., the
rulers of China left for their capital consisted of a
locomotive and twenty-one carriages, arranged in the following
order:—Nine freight cars laden with servants, sedan chairs,
carts, mules, &c.; a guard’s van, for employés of the railway;
two first-class carriages (Imperial Princes); Emperor’s special
carriage; first-class carriage for high officials in attendance
(Jung Lu, Yüan Shih-k’ai, General Sung Ch’ing, Lu Ch’uan-lin,
Governor Ts’en of Shansi, Ministers of the Household,
and others); Empress Dowager’s special carriage; special
carriages of the young Empress and the Imperial concubine; two
second-class carriages, for eunuchs in attendance; first-class
carriage for the Chief Eunuch, and the ‘Service’ carriage of M.
Jadot.

“The special carriages had been prepared at great expense under
instructions issued by the Director-General of Railways, Sheng.
Those of the Empress Dowager, the Emperor, and his consort,
were luxuriously furnished with costly curios and upholstered
in Imperial yellow silk; each had its throne, divan, and
reception room. Heavy window curtains had been thoughtfully
provided in the carriages intended for the ladies’ use; they
were not required, however, as none of the party showed any
desire for privacy during the entire journey. While travelling,
the carriage of the Empress Dowager was the general rendezvous
of all the ladies, attended by their eunuchs, the Empress
Dowager spending much of the time in conversation with the
Chief Eunuch—of somewhat notorious character—and the Emperor.

“The Empress Dowager possesses in a marked degree a
characteristic frequently observed in masterful natures: she
is extremely superstitious. The soothsayers and astrologers
of the Court at Peking enjoy no sinecure; on the other hand,
more attention is paid to their advice than that which the
average memorialist obtains, and the position of necromancer
to the Throne is not unprofitable. On the present occasion
the sages-in-ordinary had fixed the auspicious hour for the
Sovereign’s return to Peking at 2 P.M. on January 7th; M. Jadot
was accordingly requested to make the necessary arrangements
to this end, and the Empress Dowager repeatedly impressed upon
him the importance which she attached to reaching the Yung-ting
gate of the city at that particular hour. To do this, as the
engineer-in-chief pointed out, would entail starting from
Pao-ting-fu at 7 A.M., but the determined ruler of China was
not to be put off by any such considerations. At 6 A.M. this
wonderful woman arrived at the station; it was freezing hard,
and the sand storm was raging violently; soldiers bearing
lanterns and torches led the way for the chair-bearers, since
the day had not yet dawned. The scene in all its details
appeals powerfully to the imagination. Once more the baggage
question monopolised the Empress Dowager’s attention; her last
freight train, laden with spoils of the southern provinces,
preceded the Imperial train by only twenty minutes. It will be
realised that the august lady’s requirements in the matter of
personal supervision of her property added responsibility of a
most serious kind to the cares—at no time light—of the railway
staff.

“An incident occurred at Pao-ting fu which throws a strong
side-light upon the Empress Dowager’s character. The high
Chinese officials above mentioned, who travelled in the
first-class carriage between the Emperor’s special car and
that of the Empress, finding themselves somewhat pressed for
space, consulted the railway officials and obtained another
first-class compartment, which was accordingly added to the
train. Her Majesty immediately noticing this, called for
explanations, which failed to meet with her approval. The
extra carriage was removed forthwith, Yüan Shih-k’ai and
his colleagues being reluctantly compelled to resume their
uncomfortably crowded quarters; to these Her Majesty paid
a visit of inspection before leaving the station, making
enquiries as to the travellers’ comfort, and expressing
complete satisfaction at the arrangements generally.

“At 11.30 A.M., punctual to the minute, the train arrived
at Feng-T’ai, where the Luhan line from Lu Ko-ch’iao meets
the Peking-Tien-tsin Railway; here the British authorities
took charge. The Empress Dowager was much reassured by the
excellence of the arrangements and the punctuality observed;
nevertheless, she continued to display anxiety as to the
hour of reaching Peking, frequently comparing her watch with
railway time. To M. Jadot, who took leave of Their Majesties
at Feng-T’ai, she expressed again the satisfaction she had
derived from this her first journey by rail, promising to renew
the experience before long and to be present at the official
opening of communication between Hankow and the capital. She
presented five thousand dollars for distribution among the
European and Chinese employés of the line, and decorated M.
Jadot with the order of the Double Dragon, Second Class.

“From Feng-T’ai the railway under British control runs directly
to the main south gate of the Tartar city (Ch’ienmen), but it
had been laid down by the soothsayers and astrologers aforesaid
that, for good augury, and to conform with tradition, the
Imperial party must descend at Machiapu and enter the Chinese
city by the direct road to the Palace through the Yung-ting
Men. At midday, therefore, leaving the railway, the Court
started in chairs for the city, in the midst of a pageant as
magnificent as the resources of Chinese officialdom permit.
The scene has been described by European writers as imposing,
but a Japanese correspondent refers to its _mise-en-scène_ as
suitable to a rustic theatre in his own country. Be this as it
may, the Empress Dowager, reverently welcomed by the Emperor,
who had preceded her, as usual, entered the city, from which
she had fled so ignominiously eighteen months before, at the
hour named by her spiritual advisers as propitious. Present
appearances at Peking, as well as the chastened tone of
Imperial Edicts, indicate that the wise men were right in their
choice.

“It may be added, in conclusion, as a sign of the times, that
the Empress Dowager’s sleeping compartment, prepared under the
direction of Sheng Hsüan-huai, was furnished with a European
bed. _Per contra_, it contained also materials for opium
smoking, of luxurious yet workmanlike appearance.”

Within a week or so of the Court’s return, the representatives of the foreign Powers were duly received in audience under the conditions named in the Peace Protocol. It was observed that the Old Buddha assumed, as of old, the highest seat on the Throne daïs, the Emperor occupying a lower and almost insignificant position. At the subsequent reception of the Minister’s wives, in the Pavilion of Tranquil Longevity, the wife of the Doyen of the Diplomatic Corps presented an address to “welcome Her Imperial Majesty back to her beautiful Capital.” The document was most cordially, almost effusively, worded, and showed that the astute and carefully pre-arranged measures taken by the Empress to conciliate the foreign Powers by adroit flattery and “allurements” had already attained their desired effect. Already the horrors of the siege, the insults and the arrogance of 1900, were forgotten; already the representatives of the Powers were prepared, as of old, to vie with each other in attempts to purchase Chinese favour by working each against the other.

In receiving the address of the ladies of the Diplomatic Body, Her Majesty created a marked impression by the emotion with which she referred to her affectionate regard for Europeans in general and her visitors in particular. With every evidence of complete sincerity she explained that a “Revolution in the Palace” had compelled her to flee from Peking; she deeply regretted the inconvenience and hardships to which her good friends of the Foreign Legations had been so unfortunately subjected, and she hoped for a renewal of the old cordial relations. The foreign ladies left the audience highly satisfied with the Empress Dowager for her condescension, and with themselves at being placed in a position to display such magnanimity. This audience was the first of many similar occasions, and reference to the numerous works in which the social side of Her Majesty’s subsequent relations with Europeans have been described will show that the Old Buddha had not greatly erred when she assured Jung Lu of the value of ancient classical methods in dealing with barbarians, and promised him that all would readily be forgiven and forgotten in the tactful exercise of condescending courtesies.

Life settled down then into the old grooves, and all went on as before in the Capital of China, the garrisons of the Allies soon becoming a familiar feature in the streets to which gradually the traders and surviving Chinese residents returned. Once more began the farce of foreign intercourse with the so-called Government of the Celestial Empire, and with it were immediately renewed all the intrigues and international jealousies which alone enable its rulers to maintain some sort of equilibrium in the midst of conflicting pressures.

The power behind the Throne, from this time until his death, was undoubtedly Jung Lu, but the Foreign Legations, still confused by memories and echoes of the siege, and suspicious of all information which did not conform to their expressed ideas of the causes of the Boxer Rising, failed to realise the truth, and saw in him a suspect who should by rights have suffered punishment with his fellow conspirators. But the actual facts of the case, and his individual actions as recorded beyond dispute in the diary of His Excellency Ching Shan, and unmistakably confirmed by other independent witnesses, were not then available in the Chancelleries. Accordingly, when Jung Lu first paid his formal official calls upon the Foreign Ministers, he was anything but gratified at the reception accorded to him. In vain it was that he assured one member of the Diplomatic body, with whom he had formerly been on fairly good terms, that as Heaven was his witness he had done nothing in 1900 except his utmost to defend and save the Legations; his statements were entirely disbelieved, and so greatly was he chagrined at the injustice done him, that he begged the Empress Dowager in all seriousness to allow him to retire from the Grand Council. But Tzŭ Hsi, fully realising the situation, assured him of her complete confidence, and in a highly laudatory decree refused his request:—

“The Grand Secretary, Jung Lu,” she said, “is a most patriotic
and loyal servant of the Throne, upon whose services we have
long and confidently relied. During the whole of the Boxer
Rebellion crisis it was he, and he alone, who calmly and
fearlessly held to the path of firmness, whilst all around
him was confusion and shouting, so that without doubt, he was
the means of saving the Empire. Most glorious indeed is his
merit. Although it may be said that the situation has now
been practically saved, we have by no means recovered from
the effects of this grievous national disaster, and there is
urgent necessity for the abolition of countless abuses and
the introduction of a programme of Reform. It is fitting that
all should assist us to this end. Whilst we ourselves, in the
seclusion of the Palace, labour unceasingly, how is it possible
that the Grand Secretary, who has received such high favour at
our hands, should even think of withdrawing from the stress
of public life, leaving to us incessant and harassing labour?
Would not his conscience drive him to remorse when reflecting
on the self-denying duties of every loyal Statesman in the
service of his Sovereign? His prayer is refused.”

On two subsequent occasions before her death, the populace and the foreign community in Peking were afforded opportunities of witnessing the Empress Dowager’s return to the city from short excursions by railway, and on each of these her affable, almost familiar, attitude was a subject of general comment. The first occasion was in the following spring, when she visited the Eastern Tombs, and upon her return, sacrificing as usual before the shrine of the God of War in the _enceinte_ of the Ch’ienmên, she talked volubly with several of the ladies whom she had met at Court. After emerging from the Temple, she called upon one of the eunuchs to bring her opera glasses, with which she eagerly scanned the crowd looking down from the wall of the city, waving her handkerchief whenever she perceived a familiar face. On one occasion she even shouted up an inquiry asking after the health of the daughter of one of the Foreign Ministers. The Manchu Princes and Chamberlains of the Court were unable to conceal their indignation and wrath at such condescension on the part of the Empress Dowager towards those whom, in spite of 1900, they still regarded (and regard to this day) as outer barbarians. So much incensed were they that they even urged Chi Lu to beg Her Majesty to desist, and to re-enter her chair, an invitation to which she paid not the slightest attention, being evidently well pleased at the violation of ceremonial etiquette which she was committing. It was noticed that the Emperor, on the other hand, took no notice whatsoever of the foreigners, and seemed to be sunk in a deep, listless melancholy.

The second occasion was after the Empress Dowager’s visit to the Western Tombs in April, 1903, four days after the death of her faithful friend and adviser, Jung Lu. On this occasion Her Majesty appeared to be in very low spirits, descending from the train slowly, and with none of her wonted vivacity. She greeted Kuei Hsiang, her brother, who was kneeling on the platform to receive her, with one curt sentence, “You have killed Jung Lu by recommending that useless doctor,” and passed on to her chair without another word. It was on this occasion, receiving certain foreign ladies in the travelling Palace erected for her at Pao-ting fu, that the Old Buddha alluded directly to the massacres of foreign missionaries which had taken place in that city, “with which she had, of course, nothing to do.” No doubt by this time, and by force of repetition, Tzŭ Hsi had persuaded herself of her complete innocence; but however this may be, she undoubtedly won over most of the foreigners with whom she came in contact, by the charm and apparent sincerity of her manner.

Before settling down to the accustomed routine of life in the Palace, the Empress Dowager, whose _penchant_ for personal explanation in Imperial Edicts seemed to be growing upon her, issued a Decree which gained for her renewed sympathy from all classes of Chinese officials. After the usual exhortations to her faithful subjects to co-operate loyally in her schemes for Reform, to put off the old bad ways and to persist energetically in well-doing, she gives a graphic description of the hardships which she and the Emperor endured during her compulsory “tour to the West.” After referring to the unforgettable shocks and sorrows of that journey, the Edict says:—

“I have now returned once more to my Palace and find the
ancestral Temples reposing as of old in dignified and unbroken
serenity. Beneath the deep awe which overcomes me in the
presence of my glorious ancestors my soul feels an added
weight of grief and remorse, and I only hope that by Heaven’s
continued favour I may yet live to accomplish some meritorious
work.”

And again, in a later passage, after referring to the drought which had brought Shensi and Shansi to the verge of famine, she says:—

“The Empire has come upon days of dire financial distress,
and my people have been compelled to find funds for me from
their very life blood; ill would it be for me to requite
their loyalty by further levies of taxation, and the Throne
is therefore bound to curtail its ordinary expenditure and to
make strict economy its guiding rule for the future. With the
exception of such repairs as are necessary to the Temples and
ancestral shrines, I hereby command that no expenditure be
incurred for repairs or decoration of the Palaces, except in
cases of absolute necessity.”