Scarcely had the young Empress become accustomed to her new dignity, when the fall of Taku and Tientsin, in 1860, warned the Emperor of what he might [Page 272] expect.  Taking the two imperial ladies and their infant son, he retired to Jeho, on the borders of Tartary, in time to escape capture.  There he heard of the burning of his summer palace and the surrender of his capital.  Whether he succumbed to disease or whether a proud nature refused to survive his disgrace, is not known.  What we do know is, that on his death, in 1861, two princes, Sushun and Tuanhwa, organised a regency and brought the court back to the capital about a year after the treaty of peace had been signed by Prince Kung as the Emperor’s representative.  Prince Kung was not included in the council of regency; and he knew that he was marked for destruction.  Resolving to be beforehand, he found means to consult with the Empresses, who looked to him to rescue them from the tyranny of the Council of Eight.  On December 2 the blow was struck:  all the members of the council were seized; the leader was put to death in the market-place; some committed suicide; and others were condemned to exile.  A new regency was formed, consisting of the two Empresses and Prince Kung, the latter having the title of “joint regent.”

What part the Empress Mother had taken in this her first coup d’etat, is left to conjecture.  Penetrating and ambitious she was not content to be a tool in the hands of the Eight.  The senior Empress yielded to the ascendency of a superior mind, as she continued to do for twenty years.

There was another actor whom it would be wrong to overlook, namely, Kweiliang, the good secretary, who had signed the treaties at Tientsin.  His daughter [Page 273] was Prince Kung’s principal wife, and though too old to take a leading part in the Court revolutions, it was he who prompted Prince Kung, who was young and inexperienced, to strike for his life.

The reigning title of the infant Emperor was changed from Kisiang, “good luck,” to Tung-chi, “joint government”; and the Empire acquiesced in the new regime.

One person there was, however, who was not quite satisfied with the arrangement.  This was the restless, ambitious young Dowager.  The Empire was quiet; and things went on in their new course for years, Prince Kung all the time growing in power and dignity.  His growing influence gave her umbrage; and one morning a decree from the two Dowagers stripped him of power, and confined him a prisoner in his palace.  His alleged offence was want of respect to their Majesties; he threw himself at their feet and implored forgiveness.

The ladies were not implacable; he was restored to favour and clothed with all his former dignities, except one.  The title of Icheng-wang, “joint regent,” never reappeared.

In 1881 the death of the senior Dowager left the second Dowager alone in her glory.  So harmoniously had they cooeperated during their joint regency, and so submissive had the former been to the will of the latter, that there was no ground for suspicion of foul play, yet such suspicions are always on the wing, like bats in the twilight of an Oriental court.