The Island Where Time Stands Still Read online

  ‘I gather that the death of the Emperor has been a great blow to you all, and I should like to offer you my condolences upon it.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you. I suppose you have heard the details?’

  ‘No; since I saw you last I have spoken only to Dr. Ho-Ping, and he did no more than confirm what I had already heard—that death was due to a wasp sting on the tongue.’

  ‘There is not very much to tell. My uncle Kâo Hsüan was the gentleman-in-waiting on that night. He saw the Emperor to his room a little after eleven o’clock, presented his opium pipe to him, and left him. A half-bitten preserved apricot was found on the floor, so evidently he helped himself to one from a bowl of crystallised fruit at his bedside during the night, and the wasp was lurking in it. His custom was to ring for his valet at about six o’clock, but occasionally he slept late, so it did not occur to the man that anything might be wrong until half-past seven. Not daring to enter the bedchamber without having been summoned, he sent for my uncle to take that responsibility. At about eight they knocked on the door and receiving no answer, went in. Just inside lay the Emperor, dead. Apparently he had made an effort to reach it, but had collapsed before he could do so.’

  ‘A wasp sting takes effect pretty quickly,’ Gregory remarked, ‘but all the same, it seems a little surprising that he should not have had time to summon help.’

  ‘Although not an opium addict, he was at times given to smoking several pipes. It is thought that this may have been such an occasion, and that the effects of the drug had deprived him of the power to make any great effort.’

  ‘How about his women, though? As he was quite a youngish man I should have thought that he would always have had one of them with him, or anyhow in an adjoining chamber.’

  ‘No; they occupy a different part of the palace, and with regard to them the custom of old China is observed. In the ante-chamber to the Emperor’s bedroom there is a table on which lie seven jade tablets. One is inscribed with the name of the Empress; the others with those of the six concubines. On his way to retire he turns over the tablet bearing the name of the lady whose company he desires for the night. She is then carried to him wrapped up in a fleecy blanket. In old China that service was performed by one of the chief eunuchs, but here the horrible custom of making boys into eunuchs has been discontinued. Their functions are now performed by old concubines who have been either in the household of the previous Emperor or those of deceased Mandarins. But sometimes the Emperor preferred to sleep alone, and it was so on the night of his death.’

  ‘I take it the new, er—Son of Heaven, must still be a child; or at most a youth in his teens,’ Gregory observed.

  A-lu-te shook her dark head. ‘No; it is that which doubles our misfortune. The Emperor had no heir. Tragedy has twice stricken within a few weeks. His sons were both drowned less than a month ago. They were beautiful little boys of seven and nine, and were taken one afternoon to enjoy a sail along the coast; but the boat overturned and their attendants were unable to save them. It is only a few days ago that we went from full mourning into half mourning on their account.’

  Gregory immediately recalled the two children he had seen down by the harbour. That had been within a day or two of his first leaving his room to sit out on the terrace, and he remembered now that on the following day Ho-ping had given the impression that something had occurred which caused him considerable distress. On his describing the boys A-lu-te at once confirmed that they were the two little Princes.

  ‘What happened to their attendants?’ Gregory asked, curious to know the fate of the nurse who had allowed her charges to be taken sailing without her.

  ‘Their usual attendants were not with them,’ A-lu-te replied. ‘Had they been it is unlikely that the tragedy would have occurred. The Emperor had issued an order that they were never to be taken outside the reef. The Imperial boatman knew that, and so did their amah. By some mischance the Imperial boatmen were not warned for duty that afternoon; so rather than disappoint the children the Harbour-Master sent them out with two of his men. It was in the rough sea outside the reef that the boat overturned. The men managed to swim ashore, but as soon as the Harbour-Master learned what had happened he naturally had their heads cut off, in the hope that the immediate action he had taken would help to placate the Emperor.’

  ‘And did it?’

  ‘The Emperor was a just man. The Harbour-Master had sought only to save the children from disappointment, and he vowed that he had told his men not to take them out to the open sea; so the Emperor did not hold him responsible for the tragedy.’

  ‘What about the amah?’

  ‘The real blame lies with her. Had she accompanied the children, as was her most positive duty, she would have prevented the boatmen from taking them beyond the reef. As it was, for some private purpose of her own she remained behind. When she appeared at the harbour to meet them the news that they had been drowned threw her into a frenzy of remorse. She snatched a knife from one of the Harbour-Master’s people, ran off behind a hut, and before she could be stopped stabbed herself to death.’

  As Gregory had seen a coolie half-persuade, half-pull the amah in through the doorway of one of the warehouses, he felt that in having lured the woman from her duty the man was as much to blame as she was; but since he could not have given the vaguest description of the coolie there seemed nothing to be gained by mentioning the matter. After a moment, he asked:

  ‘Will the Emperor be succeeded by a younger brother, or some more distant relative?’

  ‘Neither. He was an only son; and, most unfortunately, the last of his line.’

  ‘To whom will the throne go, then?’

  A-lu-te shook her head. ‘I have no idea. It lies with the Council of State to decide. The problem is an intensely worrying one for my father and his fellow Mandarins.’

  ‘When a Monarch dies without an heir-apparent, it is usual for him to nominate his successor in his will. Didn’t the Emperor leave even an indication of his wishes?’

  ‘No. Until less than a month ago the succession was assured by his two healthy sons. As he was still quite young it was natural for him, and everyone else, to assume that he would make good their loss by begetting others; so no provision at all was made to meet a situation so unexpected as this.’

  ‘How about the Empress? Could she not be made ruler?’

  ‘Oh no; that is quite out of the question.’

  ‘Why? The old Empress Dowager reigned in China for nearly as long as Queen Victoria reigned in England.’

  ‘You are mistaken. The Great Empress Mother acted only as Regent for her son, and later for other members of the Imperial Family.’

  ‘Whatever her status this one would have infinitely less power. She would be no more than a figurehead, and entirely in the hands of her Council.’

  ‘They would never agree to that,’ A-lu-te asserted. ‘The fact that she is not of the Imperial blood rules her out absolutely.’

  Gregory could see that A-lu-te was a prey to acute anxiety, and he guessed the reason. Giving her a shrewd glance he asked, ‘Who are the two strongest personalities in the island?’

  Without hesitation she replied, ‘Ho-Ping’s elder brother and my uncle, Kâo Hsüan. The one is already a Mandarin and the other, as my father’s nearest male relative, will be when he dies. Both of them are extremely ambitious.’

  ‘I see,’ Gregory nodded. ‘Then, since the Emperor has no legitimate successor, you are afraid that these two will fight it out between them, and that this island paradise is about to become a field of blood?’

  5

  The Imperial Family

  This question of the succession seemed to occupy A-lu-te’s mind to the exclusion of nearly everything else, and when she came out to join Gregory in the garden the following afternoon she told him that the Council had held another long but unsatisfactory meeting. Ho-Ping’s brother Tsai-Ping had pointed out that as the Council of State had always done the real governing in the name of an Em
peror, there was no reason why it should not continue to do so without one.

  To this the other Mandarins were strongly opposed; both because the creation of any form of Republic would have been entirely contrary to their cherished traditions, and because they feared that without an Emperor to wield permanent authority over them Tsai-Ping’s ambitious nature might lead him into attempting to become a dictator. But the sudden extinction of their own branch of the Imperial Family had left them at their wits’ end, as they could think of no male member of any other branch whom they would care to invite to ascend the throne.

  ‘Surely,’ Gregory remarked, ‘if they wish to observe tradition, it is not a question of “caring”. Provided the Prince who has the best claim is sound in mind they should accept him. Anyhow there must be some precedent to go on. How was the last Emperor selected?’

  ‘He inherited the throne. His father and grandfather reigned before him. We have had three Emperors since the island was first colonised in 1913.’

  ‘Well, how was his grandfather selected? In 1913 Pu-yi was still Emperor of China, and remained there until driven out in the nineteen-twenties; so the heads of your Seven Families must have created some precedent in selecting the Emperor they brought with them.’

  A-lu-te looked at him gravely, and asked, ‘How much do you know of the history of the Imperial Family?’

  ‘Not very much; only that the Manchu dynasty dates back to the invasion of 1644, and that from about 1860 the Emperors were little more than puppets dominated by the old Dowager Empress.’

  ‘Then for you to understand our situation I must tell you of the way in which her influence affected the succession. The Emperor Tao-Kwang died in 1850. He had nine sons and was succeeded by the eldest, Hsien-feng. When the period of court mourning was over sixty girls, all of the noble Manchu families that form the eight Banner Corps, were summoned to the palace. From them the Empress Mother and the Chief Eunuch selected twenty-eight to form the harem of the young Emperor. Those chosen included two sisters, Sakota and Yehonala. The latter was classed only as a concubine of the third grade, but it was she who later became the Great Empress Mother. Sakota was a girl of exceptional beauty so Hsien-feng made her his Empress, but Yehonala fascinated him with her mind, and was soon assisting him with affairs of state; moreover she gave him a son, so he raised her also to the rank of Empress.

  ‘In 1861, Hsien-feng died. Two older Princes attempted to seize power but with the help of her girlhood sweetheart, Jung Lu, who commanded one of the Banner Corps, Yehonala outwitted them. She had her little son, Tung-chich, proclaimed Emperor, with her sister and herself as co-Regents. As you may imagine, Yehonala made Sakota Regent with her only for appearances’ sake; and from that day on, for very nearly half a century she imposed her will upon everyone who played a part in the government of the Empire.

  ‘Perhaps business occupied so much of her time that she had none left to give to her son. In any case, the boy gave all his affection to his aunt, and by the time he became of an age to rule he thoroughly disliked his mother. In 1872, when he had reached the age of seventeen, the two Empresses selected for him a number of women, and it was agreed between them that he should be allowed to decided for himself which he would have for first Imperial Consort. He chose a girl of fifteen named A-lu-te.’

  Gregory looked up in surprise, and A-lu-te smiled at him. ‘Yes, I am named after her. The reason for that will be plain to you in a minute; and, as you will see, she plays a very important part in this story.

  ‘She was a girl of spirit and she disliked Yehonala as much as did her husband. Very soon the young couple were at daggers drawn with the Empress Mother, and she could no longer delay in making at least a show of handing power over to them. In China there is a saying “Who rides the tiger cannot dismount”, and Yehonala realised her danger. Tung-chich and his little Empress were scarcely more than children, and totally inexperienced, whereas Yehonala was wise in the ways of the Court and by her charm and intellect kept nearly all its principal personages bound to her interests. For a year or so she let her son make a fool of himself; then, early in 1875, he caught smallpox and died.’

  A certain inflection in A-lu-te’s voice made Gregory turn and glance at her. She shrugged her slim shoulders.

  ‘No one will now ever learn the truth about that. Tung-chich was a dissolute young man and had formed the habit of leaving the palace secretly at night to indulge in disreputable pleasures in the outer city. He had undermined his health by excessive dissipation and it is quite possible that he contracted the disease on one of those nocturnal forays. On the other hand, in old China there was a very unpleasant practice connected with the small rough towels, heated with steam, that it was customary to offer people for wiping their hands and faces whenever they entered theatres, restaurants or private houses. When it was desired to get rid of someone, these towels were first passed over the ulcerated face of a man who had smallpox.’

  Gregory made a grimace. ‘What a revolting idea!’

  ‘Yes; but in the majority of cases effective; and a good way of evading the condemnation usually aroused by the more open methods of murder. I think my ancestors had little to learn in such matters from the Borgias. Of course, it may have been only malicious rumour which suggested that the Emperor was handed infected towels by the eunuchs on the orders of his mother. In any case, he died before he was twenty without an heir, but leaving A-lu-te about to have a baby.

  ‘Yehonala needed no telling that if A-lu-te bore a son history might repeat itself. Should the child be proclaimed Emperor, A-lu-te would become Empress Mother, and perhaps Regent. A new era would begin. Yehonala’s friends would be sent silken cords as an intimation that they could hang themselves, and her own days would be numbered. She had to strike down the young Empress or be struck down herself.’

  A-lu-te paused a moment, then continued. ‘The history books will tell you that Tung-chih’s widow survived him by only a few days, then died of grief. That was the official statement issued by Yehonala, but it was not the truth. Realising that so much hung on her pregnancy that it had become her death warrant, the young Empress fled from the palace secretly by night and sought sanctuary with my grandparents. They took her to a remote estate that they owned in the province of Sze-chuan. There she was delivered of a boy.

  Gregory’s quick mind anticipated the sequel, and he murmured, ‘That boy, born in 1875, would have been just forty in 1914. It was he whom your father and the other Mandarin brought here as their Emperor, and it was his grandson who has just died.’

  As A-lu-te nodded, he went on: ‘I see now how it was that when they decided to colonise this island they were faced with no problem in selecting an Emperor. Directly your father let his friends know that his parents had brought up Tung-chih’s posthumous son in secret, the choice was obvious. No one could possibly dispute his claim as he was the only son of the late Emperor and Empress. But who did Yehonala put on the throne of China?’

  ‘There were three claimants—the son of Prince Kung, who was the eldest surviving uncle of Tung-chih; the son of Prince Ch’un, another uncle who was known as the Seventh Prince because by birth he came sixth after Tung-chih; and a nephew of Tung-chih’s named Pu-lún. Only the last was strictly eligible, because it is traditional that the ancestral rites to a deceased Emperor must be performed by a member of a younger generation. But Yehonala was not the woman to allow a matter of ceremony to stand in the way of her ambitions. In China the law of primogeniture has never been observed, yet in this instance Prince Kung urged it in favour of his son’s candidature, and Sakota, who was officially the senior Dowager Empress, supported him. But that would not have suited Yehonala, because the boy was already in his teens and it would have meant a short Regency. She favoured Prince Ch’un’s boy because he was still a child, and at a midnight meeting, during which a terrible storm raged, she forced the Council to accept him. He was named Kuang-hsu.

  ‘So it was that Yehonala’s second joint Regency began
; but, as in the case of her own son, the little Emperor disliked her and gave his affection to the more gentle-natured Sakota. Other causes for quarrels developed between the Regents, and it may be that Yehonala began to fear that when Kuang-hsu grew up he would combine with her sister to bring about her downfall. It is at least significant that it was after eating some sweet cakes sent to her by Yehonala that Sakota suddenly fell ill and died.’

  ‘It certainly seems that the Borgias had nothing on this old lady,’ Gregory remarked with a grim smile. ‘Anyhow, little A-lu-te showed very good sense in getting out of her clutches while she had the chance.’

  A-lu-te nodded. ‘Yes; but you must not think of Yehonala as old then. She was still only about thirty-five, and it was not until many years later that her affectionate subjects gave her the nickname of “The old Buddha”.’

  ‘Affectionate subjects?’

  ‘The term implies “The Wise One”, and she was greatly beloved by her people. You see, she was the champion of the old China. During four thousand years of isolation China had developed a great civilisation. It was not until the last half of the century that the European powers began to force their way into the country. Yehonala was still a young wife when the first clash occurred. Lord Elgin, with British, French, Russian and German troops, captured Pekin and sacked the beautiful Summer Palace. She never forgave them, and from then on for the next forty years, right up to the Boxer risings in 1900, there was constant friction with the “Foreign Devils”. Yehonala fought a losing battle, but she fought it bravely and skilfully to protect what she believed to be the best interests of her people. That is why they loved her.’

  ‘I take it she became sole Regent after Sakota’s death?’

  ‘Yes; but once again she was unlucky in her choice of a child Emperor. Kuang-hsu was unhealthy in mind and body. As a youth he imbibed many Western ideas without properly understanding them. He detested the ceremonies it was his duty as Emperor to perform, and was morbid, shy and difficult to deal with.