A Western Artist in the Forbidden City

The year was 1903 when an American portrait painter named Katharine Carl received an extraordinary commission—to paint the official portrait of Empress Dowager Cixi for display at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair. This unprecedented access to China’s most powerful woman provided rare insights into the private life of a ruler often shrouded in mystery and controversy. Carl’s detailed memoirs reveal a complex personality that defied Western stereotypes—a woman who could shift effortlessly from playful matriarch to formidable stateswoman, whose private passions included horticulture and traditional crafts as much as affairs of state.

The Dual Nature of a Ruler

What emerges most strikingly from Carl’s account is Cixi’s remarkable duality. During morning audiences with ministers, she projected imperial majesty that made seasoned officials tremble—sitting perfectly erect for three-hour sessions without showing fatigue. Yet in the afternoons among her court ladies, she became “as playful as a child,” engaging in games and laughter. This chameleon-like ability allowed her to maintain absolute authority while keeping her inner circle devoted. A French nobleman’s assessment that “in China, she is supreme” captures the awe she inspired.

Carl noted with particular fascination how Cixi managed her vast household with psychological acuity. The empress dowager maintained careful equilibrium among her staff—showing favor but preventing anyone from becoming overly powerful, welcoming opinions while commanding absolute obedience when decisions were made. This delicate balance, Carl observed, explained how a woman could hold such unchallenged power in a deeply patriarchal system.

The Imperial Theater of Power

The physical spaces of the Summer Palace served as a carefully staged backdrop for Cixi’s performance of power. Carl describes the Hall for Receiving Mongolian Princes—a stark, forty-foot-tall structure used just once annually, containing only the dragon throne and a few chairs. Its imposing emptiness created psychological pressure on visiting nobles, reinforcing Qing authority through architectural intimidation.

More personal spaces revealed different facets. The famous Nine-Dragon Screen—with its meticulously arranged ceramic beasts symbolizing imperial power—stood near more intimate gardens where Cixi indulged her passion for gourds. These squash plants, symbols of fertility and prosperity in Chinese culture, received imperial-level care. Carl’s description of the empress dowager wading through mud in rain-soaked shoes to inspect her gourds shows a ruler who, despite her divinity-claiming “Old Buddha” title, remained hands-on with her passions.

Craftsmanship as Statecraft

Cixi’s gourd-carving sessions reveal unexpected dimensions of her leadership style. Carl watched in amazement as the ruler demonstrated remarkable dexterity with carving tools while simultaneously holding court—explaining Manchu script differences to her foreign guest, distributing specially selected gourds to favored attendants, and discussing state matters. This multitasking wasn’t mere hobbyism; it reflected a Confucian ideal of cultivated rulership where artistic refinement complemented political wisdom.

The empress dowager’s silver hot pot meals became another arena for cultural exchange. Carl’s humorous struggles with chopsticks—resulting in food flying across the table—brought rare laughter to the imperial household. That Cixi allowed such informality around something as ritualized as dining speaks to her nuanced understanding of diplomacy. These meals weren’t just sustenance but opportunities to showcase Chinese cultural superiority through cuisine and table manners.

The Performance of Resilience

The rainy excursion Carl describes becomes a metaphor for Cixi’s reign. Despite torrential downpours, the empress dowager insisted on her garden tour—just as she had stubbornly maintained power through the catastrophic Boxer Rebellion and foreign invasions. Her attendants, soaked and miserable, had no choice but to follow, mirroring how officials had to adapt to her mercurial leadership style.

Yet there’s poignancy in Cixi’s delight in the rain—her poetic observation about how “misty rain washes the soul clean” suggests a woman who, beneath the imperial trappings, remained sensitive to beauty. That she could find joy in such simple pleasures after decades of court intrigues and national crises hints at the emotional complexity Western caricatures often missed.

Legacy Beyond the Caricatures

Carl’s account challenges the “Dragon Lady” stereotype that dominated Western accounts. We see Cixi banning foot-binding at court, embracing photography technology, and showing genuine curiosity about foreign perspectives—always on her own terms. Her calculated shift from the aloof “Old Buddha” title to the warmer “Ancestral Matriarch” after the Boxer humiliation demonstrates keen political instincts for rebranding.

The empress dowager’s cultural patronage—from revitalizing Peking opera to preserving craft traditions—created a lasting artistic legacy that survived her controversial political decisions. Even her much-criticized use of naval funds to rebuild the Summer Palace preserved Chinese architectural heritage, however questionable the financing.

The Modern Reassessment

Contemporary historians increasingly recognize what Carl glimpsed—that Cixi’s rule (1861-1908) coincided with China’s most challenging modernization period, where every option carried risk. The empress dowager’s balancing act between reform and tradition, her canny manipulation of competing factions, and her preservation of Qing sovereignty against colonial pressures appear more nuanced through Carl’s intimate portrait.

That a foreign artist could gain such access speaks to Cixi’s sophisticated understanding of soft power—she wanted her portrait (and by extension, China’s image) controlled rather than left to foreign caricatures. In this, as in so much else, the empress dowager proved ahead of her time, using cultural diplomacy to shape international perceptions.

The gourds she so lovingly cultivated serve as fitting metaphor—like those hardy vines, Cixi adapted to her environment while maintaining distinctive form, yielding fruits that still fascinate historians today. Through Carl’s eyes, we see not just the feared autocrat of legend, but a complete human being—flawed, brilliant, contradictory, and utterly captivating.