17 A Peace that Ruined China

(1895)

AFTER taking Port Arthur, the Japanese declared that they were ready for peace talks. Two Chinese negotiators set off for Japan. On 5 January 1895, before they left, they saw Cixi and Emperor Guangxu. After the audience, Cixi put the key points of her instructions down on a sheet of royal yellow paper and had it delivered to the envoys, telling them emphatically not to sign anything without referring back to Beijing and, especially, not to make any promises that concerned territory or were beyond the country's means.

The day the two negotiators arrived in Japan the war took a drastic turn for the worse for the Chinese, with the Japanese poised to seize Weihaiwei, the headquarters of the Northern Fleet. The Fleet was under strict orders to break out and, as a last resort, to sink their ships to stop them falling into enemy hands. But officers and men refused to obey orders. Some went down on their knees and begged Admiral Ting not to destroy the ships because, if he did, the Japanese would certainly torture them ferociously before killing them. Under this pressure, Admiral Ting signed a letter of surrender and handed over the gunboats, ten in all, including one of the two ironclads, to the Japanese. The Admiral then committed suicide by swallowing opium. Thus in February 1895 the Northern Fleet – the backbone of the Chinese navy – was lost. While the Japanese warriors contemptuously compared their antagonists to ‘dying swine lying on the ground to be slaughtered and cut up at will', Tokyo rejected the two negotiators, demanding instead a plenipotentiary with the highest position and prestige. It was clear they wanted Earl Li.

From the way Tokyo was dictating terms, Cixi felt it was impossible for the talks to produce any acceptable outcome. On 6 February, she told the Grand Council that Japan was bound to impose ‘terms to which we can't possibly agree', and the government must recall the envoys, break the talks and fight on. The ‘severity of her words and her demeanour' startled Grand Tutor Weng. The following day, when a top commander called Wang Wenshao had an audience with her, he was similarly struck, as he described in his diary:

The Empress Dowager had outrage written all over her face and in her words. She bade me do everything possible to reignite the fighting spirit of officers and men. She told me to implement strict rules to award bravery and punish cowardice, and to do our utmost to salvage the situation … She instructed me long and hard, for three quarters of an hour, anxious that I should grasp her message. I could see how concerned she was for me to get it right, and so I lingered outside while she received the Grand Councillors, in case she had more directions for me.

Cixi gave the commander a decree to take to the troops. It was issued in her own name, and it called on them to fight on bravely.

She sent an order to Viceroy Zhang Zhidong, who was firmly opposed to peace talks based on unacceptable terms and had been cabling the court with ideas about how best to continue fighting. Her letter asked him to go beyond the remit of his viceroyalty and help plan an overall strategy. But when the Viceroy asked Beijing for more information about the war, the emperor, in a tone of displeasure, replied that it was none of his business.

It was clear that Cixi's words counted for little. The men at the top – Emperor Guangxu, Prince Gong and the rest of the Grand Council – did not want to fight and were willing to accept any Japanese terms. They were mortified by the prospect of their enemy marching on Beijing and overthrowing the dynasty. When he mentioned this possibility to Grand Tutor Weng, the emperor was in floods of tears, and the classics tutor was ‘sweating and trembling'. Cixi was forced to agree to send Earl Li to Japan, but she asked the Grand Council to tell the earl to ‘come and get instructions first'. Prince Gong was terrified that Cixi might impose conditions that would lead to the collapse of the talks, and intervened: ‘But the emperor has said Li doesn't have to come. This is not in accordance with His Majesty's wishes.' Cixi snapped, ‘Are you asking for my views or not Do my words mean something or not?'

Earl Li did come for an audience. On 25 February, he and Prince Gong informed Cixi of the Japanese demand that he should only go to Japan if he had a mandate to cede territory, in addition to paying a large indemnity. They also told her that Emperor Guangxu had decided to send the earl on those conditions. Cixi objected furiously – to no avail. In the end she said angrily: ‘You do whatever you want to do. Don't ask me any more!' When Emperor Guangxu still sought her advice on what Earl Li should give away to Japan, she sent a eunuch to say that she was unwell, and could the emperor please make the decision himself.

As Earl Li did not want to take personal responsibility for the loss of territory – which mattered most for the Chinese – on 3 March Emperor Guangxu gave him written authorisation to ‘cede territory'. This reflected the wishes of all the Grand Councillors, who wrote collectively to the empress dowager on the same day, entreating her to understand the emperor's dilemma, citing ‘danger to the capital' as his main concern. Cixi did not reply. She turned her back on her adopted son, who in great distress tiptoed around her apartment trying to see her and get her endorsement.

On 8 April, Japan's full terms arrived. Apart from an astronomical indemnity, they demanded the cession of Taiwan, known to be a ‘jewel' of the Chinese empire, and which, as Viceroy Zhang reminded the court, ‘each year earns over 2 million taels for the state coffers, and dozens of times this amount for the merchants and population at large'. As well as Taiwan, Japan wanted the nearby islands of the Pescadores, and the Liaodong Peninsula in south Manchuria. An incensed Cixi told Emperor Guangxu: ‘Cede no land, recall the negotiator and fight on!'

But of course there was no ace up her sleeve. What she had was a determination not to cave in, and a readiness to take risks. She was ignored by the men, who wanted no risks. Upon receiving an ultimatum from Prime Minister Itō, warning that 100,000 troops were on their way to Beijing, Emperor Guangxu, on 14 April, told Earl Li to accept the Japanese terms. On the 17th, the earl signed the Treaty of Shimonoseki with Itō. Japan got the territories it demanded, plus 200 million taels in indemnity.

During this period Cixi was consumed by outrage and despair, made worse by her powerlessness. So acute was her anguish that she would frequently pass out. A eunuch ‘often spotted Cixi weeping when she thought she was alone'. He said that ‘Cixi's private tears revealed untold agony in her heart … If one were to ask me to name one thing about Cixi, I would say she was the most tormented person on earth.'

Compared with the two previous indemnities, to Britain in 1842, and to Britain and France in 1860, the sum forced out of China in 1895 reveals the rising Asian power's unparalleled appetite and mercilessness. The European demands – sixteen million taels in the first case, and eight million to each country in the latter – had been more or less related to their war costs and the damages inflicted on non-combatants. The 200 million to Japan bore little relation to the costs incurred, as Japan had only thirty million taels in total in its state coffers at the beginning of the war, and the war bonds it had sold subsequently – eighty million – were only partially cashed. Prime Minister Itō did not dispute these figures when Earl Li cited them.

The treaty enraged the entire Chinese ruling elite. Many hundreds of officials in the capital signed petitions calling for its rejection, joined by more than a thousand members of the literati who were in Beijing from the provinces for the Imperial Examination. The scale of the ‘No' campaign was unprecedented. Even though the treaty was not officially made public, word had got round. All petitioners implored the emperor to refuse to ratify it – some urging him to move the capital to the interior and settle for a protracted war. But their impassioned words were dismissed as ‘a voice and nothing besides' (to quote Hart). Public opinion carried little weight with Emperor Guangxu, for whom the only domestic threat was armed peasant rebellion; otherwise, the only menace was Japan, which could topple the Great Qing.

Then, unexpectedly, some European powers came to the aid of Beijing. Russia, Germany and France stepped in and demanded that Japan return the Liaodong Peninsula to China, on the grounds that occupying it would ‘put the Chinese capital in a permanently threatened position'. Europe feared a Japanese takeover of China. Robert Hart remarked: ‘if Japan wins and takes China, the biggest empire the world ever saw – the most go-ahead and the most powerful … let 1900 look out!' Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany coined the expression the ‘Yellow Peril', to refer to what he saw as Europe's nightmare: Japan ‘at the head of a consolidated Asia, the control of China by Japan'.

Seeing clear proof of Europe's concern, Cixi judged that it was highly unlikely that Japan would attack Beijing and finish off the Qing dynasty. Japan was not yet in a position to challenge the West. (As it happened, Japan eventually accepted the three European powers' demand and withdrew from the Liaodong Peninsula – albeit at a cost.) She hoped that Emperor Guangxu and the grandees could recognise that the capital and the dynasty were secure, and would then stand firm and refuse the Japanese terms. Of course Japan might go ahead and seize Beijing regardless, but Cixi reckoned that it was a risk worth taking. The terms of the treaty were too damaging to the empire for its leaders not to take that risk. In her calculation, pressured by Western powers and facing a China that showed a determination to fight a protracted war, Japan might well settle for a peace treaty that was far less fatal than the Treaty of Shimonoseki.

Hoping the court would think the same way as she did, on 26 April Cixi asked the Grand Council to reconsider the peace treaty thoroughly and give her their thoughts. But these men all agreed with the emperor that they must be certain that Europe would definitely intervene on their behalf before deciding to fight, and the emperor ordered cables sent to the three countries for a definitive commitment. Unsurprisingly, there was no immediate reply. While waiting, Emperor Guangxu became obsessed about meeting the deadline for the ratification of the treaty, petrified that once it had passed, the Japanese would march into Beijing. Stretched to breaking point, the twenty-three-year-old looked haggard beyond his years. No grandee advised against ratification: none wanted to be the one responsible for the fall of the dynasty. Grand Tutor Weng just groaned that he was ready to smash his head to smithereens if it were of any help. All eyes were on Prince Gong, even though he had in fact contributed little and was gravely ill. Characteristically, the prince advised endorsing the treaty. For all his qualities, he was essentially a weak man who was prone to buckle in a major crisis.

As neither the emperor nor the grandees expressed a resolve to fight, Cixi stopped trying to persuade them. But she refused to take part in endorsing the Treaty of Shimonoseki. The ratification was confirmed by Emperor Guangxu on 2 May, with Prince Gong and the Grand Council in attendance. The moment was accompanied by much ‘trembling' and ‘weeping'. Emperor Guangxu then cabled Earl Li, telling him to exchange the instruments of ratification at once. This was done on 8 May. The emperor even rushed the earl, as the young man could not wait to get the whole thing over and done with.

He had chosen ‘the safest line to follow', Robert Hart remarked, ‘it's an empire that is at stake!' But to Cixi the cost of ‘peace' was just too high, and it would ultimately wreck rather than save the empire. She had foresight, defiance, and courage. What she lacked was a mandate.

The Treaty of Shimonoseki ruined China. Charles Denby, the American minister who had acted as an intermediary in the deal, who had witnessed the relatively good times before the war and the abysmal years afterwards, wrote: ‘The Japanese war was the beginning of the end for China.' As well as the 200 million taels of indemnity, China was forced to pay Japan another thirty million for the return of the Liaodong Peninsula. These plus other ‘costs' amounted to 231.5 million taels, more than four times Japan's annual revenue. There was also the booty of war in the form of arms and gunboats.

To make the payment Emperor Guangxu borrowed from the West. China's foreign debts had been forty-one million taels altogether over the past thirty years and had virtually been paid off by mid-1895. The country could have been cash-rich, with funds to carry out a wide range of modernising projects, not to mention raising living standards. But this splendid inheritance was thrown away and, instead, it was forced to borrow 300 million taels under crippling terms. Adding together the indemnity, the interest on the loans and China's own gigantic expenditure during the conflict, the war – and ‘peace' – cost the country as much as 600 million taels, nearly six times its total revenue in 1895 (101.567 million). To exacerbate an already dire situation, the impatient Emperor Guangxu decided to pay off Japan in just three years. All the Customs' takings now went to Japan, and domestic taxes were increased. The provinces were given quotas to contribute, and they in turned squeezed the population. The life-blood was being pumped out of China.

As with many other false accusations, this disastrous war and ‘peace' have often been blamed on Cixi. In a vague but categorical way, her accusers have asserted that she depleted the navy in order to build her Summer Palace, that she had been obsessed with her sixtieth birthday and neglected the war, and that she was a spineless appeaser. The truth is that it was she who had founded China's modern navy; the building of the Summer Palace did not deprive it of cash, even though she did take a small portion of the funds. She did not actively participate in the war for a long time, not because she was indulging in her birthday preparations, but because Emperor Guangxu barred her. And far from being an appeaser, she was the only person in the court who unambiguously advocated rejecting Japan's demands and fighting on.

Misappropriating naval funds before the war (even though she donated roughly the same amount during the conflict) and soliciting birthday presents were both massive misjudgements and were undoubtedly reprehensible. One sapped the discipline of the navy, the other damaged the morale of the court. She realised her mistakes, and would make amends in future years. In spite of these sins, she was liable neither for the defeat nor for the spectacularly harmful ‘peace'. These were the responsibility of Emperor Guangxu (who has been undeservingly cast in popular myth as a tragic hero struggling to do his best) and, to a lesser extent, the Grand Councillors (though they were officially no more than advisers). Ultimately, the blame must lie in a system that deposited such heavy responsibility on such slight shoulders. Robert Hart lamented that ‘there's no head – no strong man'. Indeed, there was only a strong woman, but she could not be the head at the moment of the crisis. Nor could her voice be heard outside a tiny circle in the court – a tragic situation that provided fertile soil for all the untrue allegations against her. Later a perceptive Frenchman said of Cixi, ‘C'est le seul homme de la Chine.' That was the real Cixi in the Forbidden City in 1895.