A Monarch in Crisis: The Reign of Emperor Xianfeng

Emperor Xianfeng (1831–1861), the ninth ruler of the Qing Dynasty, ascended the throne in 1850 at the age of 19, inheriting an empire in precipitous decline. His reign coincided with one of China’s most tumultuous periods—the Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864), which claimed millions of lives, and the Second Opium War (1856–1860), where Western powers further encroached upon Chinese sovereignty. Faced with insurmountable challenges, Xianfeng increasingly retreated into personal escapism, particularly through his obsession with opera.

Unlike his predecessors, who patronized the arts as a display of imperial grandeur, Xianfeng’s fixation was deeply personal. His favorite opera, The Little Sister (Xiao Meizi), also known as Longing for Spring (Sichun), became a symbol of his psychological unraveling. This seemingly trivial cultural preference offers a window into the despair of a ruler witnessing his empire’s collapse.

The Little Sister: An Opera of Heartbreak and Obsession

Originally a Kunqu opera, The Little Sister was included in the Qing-era anthology Zhui Bai Qiu, a collection of popular theatrical works. The plot revolves around a jilted woman lamenting her lover’s betrayal, her soliloquies dripping with anguish and nostalgia. Key lyrics include:

“In the beginning, when you had not yet won me over, you said you longed for me like thirst longs for water, heat for coolness, cold for warmth, hunger for food… You called me ‘sister’ with sweet words. But now, having won me, you fly far away… Heartless villain! Do you remember when we swore oaths under the moon and stars? I asked if you would ever change—you swore never to. And now, you’ve forgotten your promises!”

Xianfeng knew every word by heart. Court records reveal his frustration when the Imperial Theatre Office (Shengping Shu) initially reported that no performers remembered the piece. His edict was firm: “Quickly learn The Little Sister. This is my command.”

The Emperor’s Theater: A Refuge from Reality

By 1856, Xianfeng’s engagement with The Little Sister became an open spectacle. The Imperial Theatre Office scrambled to assemble a new cast, recruiting beautiful young actresses and veteran coaches. After a frenzied 20-day rehearsal, the opera premiered on March 15 at the Tongle Garden, a private theater within the Summer Palace.

Xianfeng didn’t merely watch—he participated. He sang along, corrected performers’ mistakes, and even joined them onstage. The opera’s themes of abandonment and futility eerily mirrored his own reign: a ruler betrayed by fate, his once-glorious dynasty now a relic.

Cultural Decadence or Psychological Escape?

Historians debate whether Xianfeng’s obsession reflected mere hedonism or deeper despair. On one hand, Qing emperors were expected to embody Confucian diligence; his indulgence breached imperial decorum. On the other, his behavior aligns with rulers throughout history who turned to art amid crisis—like Nero’s fiddling during Rome’s fire, or Louis XVI’s lock-making hobby before the French Revolution.

The choice of The Little Sister is particularly revealing. Unlike grand historical epics, this was an intimate, emotional piece. Its focus on personal betrayal may have resonated with Xianfeng, who faced treachery from corrupt officials and foreign powers alike.

Legacy: The Opera and the Fall of the Qing

Xianfeng’s reign ended in 1861 with his death at 30, fleeing British and French forces during the sacking of the Old Summer Palace. His son, the Tongzhi Emperor, inherited a fractured empire. Yet, The Little Sister’s story didn’t die with him.

The opera’s popularity endured in folk theaters, and its themes of loss echoed China’s 19th-century narrative. Today, it’s studied as both a cultural artifact and a psychological case study of leadership under collapse. Xianfeng’s obsession underscores a universal truth: when faced with unmanageable crises, even emperors seek solace in stories that mirror their sorrow.

Modern Reflections: Art and Power in Times of Crisis

Xianfeng’s story raises timeless questions about leadership and escapism. In an era where global crises often drive leaders into isolation or distraction, his example serves as a cautionary tale. Art can comfort, but when it replaces governance, the consequences are dire.

Meanwhile, The Little Sister survives as a testament to opera’s power to captivate—even those who rule empires. Its melancholic beauty reminds us that behind historical upheavals lie human beings, flawed and fragile, seeking meaning in a world slipping from their grasp.