From Paris to Shanghai: A Diplomatic Homecoming

On January 2, 1903, Yu Geng, China’s former minister to France, concluded his four-year diplomatic mission in Paris. Accompanied by his family, first and second secretaries, naval attachés, servants, and a retinue of over fifty people, he boarded the steamship Annam bound for Shanghai. The voyage was arduous, and upon arrival, the party was greeted not by fanfare but by a torrential downpour—an inauspicious welcome that complicated their already challenging transition.

The logistical nightmare of settling such a large group in unfamiliar territory fell largely on Yu Geng’s wife, whose resourcefulness proved indispensable. While the entourage struggled with the chaos, the family’s past experiences in transit had taught them to rely on her alone. At Shanghai’s Huangpu Dock in the French Concession, local officials—including the daotai (Shanghai’s highest-ranking administrator)—greeted them with formal pomp. The daotai offered the family lodging at Tianhou Palace, a traditional guesthouse for high-ranking officials, but Yu Geng declined. A prior stay there during his 1895 mission to Japan had left bitter memories, and he had already arranged accommodations at a Western-style hotel in the French Concession.

This refusal defied convention. By Qing dynasty norms, traveling dignitaries were expected to accept local hospitality as a gesture of respect. Yet Yu Geng, ever the pragmatist, prioritized comfort over protocol—a recurring theme in his career.

The Perils of Travel: Ice, Illness, and Imperial Summons

No sooner had the family settled than two urgent telegrams arrived from the Forbidden City, demanding Yu Geng’s immediate return to Beijing. The order was easier issued than obeyed: winter had frozen the waterways to Tianjin, making travel impossible for the ailing diplomat. After pleading for delay until the thaw, Yu Geng’s party finally departed Shanghai on February 22, reaching Tianjin four days later.

There, another ritual awaited. High officials returning from abroad were required to perform the Gongqing Sheng’an ceremony—a formal declaration of loyalty to the emperor. Since the local daotai lacked the authority to oversee it, Viceroy of Zhili Yuan Shikai stepped in. At the Wan Shou Gong, a palace-temple hybrid, Yu Geng and Yuan Shikai donned full court regalia—embroidered robes, beaded necklaces, and feathered hats—before a tablet inscribed “Long Live the Emperor.” Kneeling, Yu Geng proclaimed, “Your servant Yu Geng inquires after the Sacred Peace!” to which Yuan Shikai replied on behalf of the absent monarch: “The Emperor and Empress Dowager are in good health.” With this performative act, the Qing court’s authority was symbolically reaffirmed.

A Home Lost to History: The Legacy of the Boxer Rebellion

The family’s arrival in Beijing on February 29 marked a bittersweet homecoming. Their former residence—a lavish 16-courtyard compound blending Western and Chinese architectural styles—had been destroyed during the 1900 Boxer Uprising, costing them 100,000 taels of silver. The estate, once owned by a Manchu prince, featured gardens with lotus ponds, arched bridges, and winding paths—a “pastoral paradise” spanning ten acres. After painstaking renovations, they had lived there for just four days before departing for Paris. Its loss haunted the family, a tangible symbol of the upheavals plaguing late-Qing officials.

Temporarily homeless, they leased a notorious property: the former residence of Li Hongzhang, where the 1901 Boxer Protocol was signed. Superstitious locals avoided the site, believing it cursed after Li’s death there. Undeterred, the Yu family moved in—a decision friends warned against. Yet for Yu Geng, a man accustomed to defying convention, the house became an unlikely sanctuary.

The Empress Dowager’s Curiosity: A Historic Audience

On March 1, 1903, Prince Qing visited with startling news: Empress Dowager Cixi wished to receive Yu Geng’s wife and two daughters the next morning. The catch? The family, having lived abroad for years, owned no traditional Manchu attire. Prince Qing assured them Cixi had waived the dress code, eager to see Western fashions firsthand.

The sisters debated their outfits intensely. One favored a blue velvet gown; the other, red—a color she believed Cixi would prefer. Their mother chose green velvet with lilac trim. At 3:00 AM, the women set out in three palanquins, escorted by 24 bearers, nine horsemen, and three supply carts—a 45-person procession snaking through Beijing’s silent streets. Six hours later, stiff and exhausted, they reached the Summer Palace.

This audience was unprecedented. Born abroad, the sisters’ names had deliberately been omitted from imperial records—a move Yu Geng engineered to spare them from becoming palace concubines, the fate of many Manchu officials’ daughters. Cixi’s invitation thus marked both an honor and a vindication of Yu Geng’s unorthodox choices.

Cultural Crossroads: Tradition and Modernity Collide

The Yu family’s 1903 journey encapsulates the tensions of a crumbling empire grappling with modernity. Yu Geng’s refusal of Tianhou Palace, his Westernized household, and his daughters’ education abroad all defied Qing norms. Even their leased home—a site of imperial humiliation—symbolized resilience amid change.

Cixi’s fascination with their clothing hints at her own conflicted relationship with the West. By 1903, she had begun adopting foreign technologies (like photography) while clinging to tradition. The audience, then, was more than ceremonial—it was a microcosm of China’s struggle to reconcile its past with an encroaching global future.

Legacy: A Family at the Heart of History

The Yus’ story illuminates the personal costs of diplomatic service in an era of imperial decline. Their lost home, arduous travels, and negotiated identities reveal the human side of history often overshadowed by treaties and uprisings. Today, as scholars revisit the late Qing’s transnational networks, figures like Yu Geng—who navigated East and West with rare dexterity—offer invaluable insights.

Their journey also underscores a timeless truth: behind every historical turning point are individuals making impossible choices, balancing duty and survival, tradition and progress. In 1903, as China stood on the brink of revolution, one family’s return became a silent testament to an empire’s twilight.