On the death of Tung-chi, the adroit selection of a nephew of three summers to succeed to the throne as her adopted son, gave the Dowager the prospect of another long regency.  Recalled to power by the [Page 274] reactionaries, in 1898, after a brief retirement, the Empress Dowager dethroned her puppet by a second coup-d’etat.

During the ruinous recoil that followed she had the doubtful satisfaction of feeling herself sole aristocrat of the Chinese Empire.  Was it not the satisfaction of a gladiator who seated himself on the throne of the Caesars in a burning amphitheatre?  Was she not made sensible that she, too, was a creature of circumstances, when her ill-judged policy compelled her a second time to seek safety in flight?  A helpless fugitive, how could she conceive that fortune held in reserve for her brighter days than she had ever experienced?

Accepting the situation and returning with the Emperor, the Empire and the world accepted her, and, taught by experience, she engaged in the congenial task of renovating the Chinese people.  Advancing years, consciousness of power, and willing conformity to the freer usages of European courts, all conspired to lead her to throw aside the veil and to appear openly as the chief actor on this imperial stage.

Six years ago her seventieth birthday was celebrated with great pomp, although she had forbidden her people to be too lavish in their loyalty.  At Wuchang, Tuan Fang, who was acting viceroy, gave a banquet at which he asked me to make a speech in the Dowager’s honor.  The task was a delicate one for a man who had borne the hardships of a siege in 1900; but I accepted it, and excused the Dowager on the principle of British law, that “The king can do no [Page 275] wrong.”  Throwing the blame on her ministers, I pronounced a eulogy on her talents and her public services.

The question arises, did we know her in person and character?  Have we not seen her in that splendid portrait executed by Miss Carl, and exhibited at St. Louis?  If we suspect the artist of flattery, have we not a gallery of photographs, in which she shows herself in many a majestic pose?  Is flattery possible to a sunbeam?  We certainly see her as truly as we see ourselves in a mirror!

As to character, it is too soon to express an opinion. Varium et mutabile semper femina.

To pencil and sunbeam add word-pictures by men and women from whose critical eyes she did not conceal herself; and we may confidently affirm that we knew her personal appearance as well as we knew that of any lady who occupies or shares a European throne.  A trifle under the average height of European ladies, so perfect were her proportions and so graceful her carriage that she seemed to need nothing to add to her majesty.  Her features were vivacious and pleasing rather than beautiful; her complexion, not yellow, but subolive, and her face illuminated by orbs of jet, half-hidden by dark lashes, behind which