他們將皇帝重新坐上皇位 —— 只有十二天

「他們把皇帝坐回王座——只坐了12天」是《神州大地》系列的一個單元。以下是該單元的 完整插畫本。您可以逐字逐句閱讀，或點擊影片頁面觀看相應圖片。

他們把皇帝坐回王座。 一位被廢黏的兒皇帝 —— 清朝最後一位皇帝溥儀，當時才十一歲 —— 被一群長大成人抬著還上龍椅，身著滿洲式辮子。不是戲劇。這是1917年的北京。十二天後，同樣的手把他抬下來。中華民國才五年，還是這樣進行這場闹剧。 共和國如何為帝皇開闢空間？小孩的名字叫做溥儀。他十一歲了。

主角是個不願剃髮的軍人，叫做張勳。但別把這當作一個人的癡狂。這十二天的戲碼，是三個人共同演出的：一個人想用另一個人當刀子，另一個人想復活一個死事，第三個人卻想召喚一個和平使者。 全都三人錯誤地計算帳單。

上次：李幼容，總統，簽署了一個命令，解僱他的總理段祺瑞——而中國半邊都轉向北京。李幼容沒有指揮過一個士兵。八個省軍都在圍困他，他做了個令人驚嘆的愚蠢的決定：他從徐州叫張勳來“調解”。他想他邀請了一個和平使者。 他不知道自己邀請了自己的墓地挖掘者。而段祺瑞呢?他只希望有人能夠進入首都,拉出黎元洪一根根的。誰點燃了這場火?讓我們倒回頭來 — 當中“召喚神容易,趕他走就不容易”了。

這一幕是一場三角之間的權力遊戲,沒有人把自己的真正計畫放在桌面上。 李源浩想要什麼? 他自己沒有軍隊,只好眼紅於張勳,後者有軍隊,他想利用他的刀子壓住段祺瑞的頭。 段祺瑞阻礙什麼? 由總統令,最近被免職的策士徐樹錚,悄悄地向張勳傳話: "去京城 — 我們支持你。 半真半假：他們支持的是張勳趕李出京，而不是恢復帝制。並且張勳自己——他想要什麼？一生中唯一的願望：扶回清朝。三個男人、三個賬冊，沒有一個是誠心寫的。

首先，這個張勳是誰？ 於1854年出生於江西豐城市的貧苦家庭，雙親早逝，他以務農為生，後來加入軍隊做廚師，為士兵在灶台上煮食。 但這個厨子有著一股強悍的性格：他三十歲左右就入伍，衝鋒陷陣，行軍比任何人都更有毅力，從士兵一直升遷到官員；後來他加入袁世凱的新軍，升遷到省長。問問自己：一個貧家子兒——誰給了他官銜、帽子和榮譽？清廷。 所以在張勳的心中，清朝不僅僅是一個家族的王朝; 它是他的養父。所以他緊緊地抓著這個順民籍: 切掉這條隊伍，你就切掉了他生命的根源。到了1911年的革命，他已經是省長和江蘇省長;共和後，他成為揚州督辦和安徽都督，領導著一個名為"丁武軍"的部隊。 他對忠誠的執著不二：清朝倒台時，他在衙門內供奉溥儀的神位並每日朝拜；袁世凱自稱皇帝時，他是第一個效忠的；袁世凱倒台時，他仍不願意尊重共和國。 從將軍到僕人，每位身後追隨丁武軍的將領都拖著一根辮子——人們稱他為「辮子元帥」，他的部下則被稱為「辮子軍」。

然而，他的「忠誠」卻是歪曲的。對於清廷，他忠心不二；但對於袁世凱，他卻曾在幕後鼓勵他繼承大統。袁世凱一旦真正死去，張翼天便轉了臉，咒罵共和國，夢想著恢復清朝。 簡單來說：張勳是忠於自己的「後頭插鰓」，不忠於任何皇帝。只要能夠恢復這個秩序，他就會忠於那個人。

李元洪為什麼邀請這個「清廷忠臣」的軍閥出面調停？簡單來說：他根本沒有軍隊，能夠「調停」的將領也不多——張勳有兵，表面上看起來還是「誠實的。 李想用張勳的刀壓杜欽瑞的頭，但杜的營地卻計畫著另一張賬：用張勳的刀趕李走後，再另尋機會對付張。有一方召喚神，一方挖坑——李元洪這個棋子看不見這一切。他以前計畫了什麼？他只計畫如何打敗杜欽瑞； 他沒有計算的是他會失去總統本身。

張勳這位調停者是誰呢？袁世凱死於1916年那一刻，他便舉行四場「徐州會議」，拉攏如倪嗣沖和張作霖那樣的省長，自稱「盟主」，成立「十三省聯盟」 —— 重新恢復的想法早已萌芽。 進入首都之前，他與八人——康有為、張震芳、雷震春、梁敦彦——在一塊黃色的絹布上簽署了"恢復宣統密約"。 告訴我：梁敦彦邀請他"調解"——他接受的是哪一份交易呢？ 答案寫在那塊黃色的絹布上：不是調解，而是恢復。

張勳也曾對袁世凱懷有舊恨。 一九一一年，張勳在南京與革命黨作戰，屠殺俘虜，得到了袁世凱的褒揚 — 但袁世凱卻背叛了他，將領土和軍隊交給馮國璋。從此張勳就恨上了袁世凱，馮國璋也好不到哪去。袁世凱死後，他什麼也不怕了 — 他要成為「復興總司令」於沙場之上。 第一次徐州會議，1916年六月，參與的代表包括徐州巡撫倪嗣沖、直隸總督張作霖、山西都督阮克文等，會議上他們只說「加強聯繫、堅持中央」，不說「恢復」；會議結束後，張作霖私下對人說：「這些人是可以用的；大事未來都靠他們。」看見 — 一塊黃色的錦布不是一天織成的。 它是一次一次的宴會，一次一封的信，慢慢地將這些軍閥綁在同一條繩子上。

借著「調停」的名義，張勳率領五千的剿亂軍從徐州出發 — 這是1917年六月七日；六月十四日，他進入北京，唯一的條件是先解散國會。要逼迫段祺瑞，黎元洪咬著牙答應 — 六月十二日，國會就被解散了。 記住這一點：要打倒總統，李源浩自己拔出了自己的最後一根釘子——他為自己辯護的臨時憲法被自己的手扯出了楔子。六月三十日夜，張勳趁著李源浩不在，與康有為和皇親王大臣混入紫禁城參與了一場「面朝天皇」的會見。決策只有一個字：做吧。

清晨三點，紫禁城的乾清宮。1917年7月1日——十一歲的溥儀，被張勵煦和康有為逼迫，重新坐上了龍椅。一道命令：共和國的第六年變成了「宣統九年」。聽清楚——這不是做夢。中華民國在一夜之間又變成了清朝。 學校男孩被怎麼推回來了? 而那些把他推回來的男人們，真正的目的又在哪裡?

張學誠,身著法服,頭戴一根帶紅緣的孔雀尾羽,領導了三百多名文武官員進入宮內,跪倒在溥儀面前說道: "代表二十二個省的紳民,恭呈陛下,歸還政權。 按照安排，溥儀發佈了康有為所草擬的詔書

那時候孩子多大了？十一歲。後來在他的回憶錄中，溥儀寫道：當時半夜被太監叫醒，模糊地穿上龍袍，完全不知道在幹什麼；他只記得大廳裡面滿滿的人跪拜，和平常比還多的餅點。 一個皇帝，像是一個文化古物 —— 他坐在不是皇座上的地方，而是張勳想要向清朝展示的那幅畫面上。就在那一瞬間，城市裡的老忠臣們從箱底掘出羽帽和朝服，穿上後去各家拜訪張勳，祝賀他； 有一段時間，前門附近的二手衣店一夜之間全都賣完了，還有一些人買不起，就去戲院租借戲服。有的人在看到戲服後，眼淚汪汪地說「現在事情又恢復正常了」。對於這些老人來說，「重建」就是恢復正軌；而對於一般大眾來說，卻是個鬧劇。

The edict out, promotions followed at once — Zhang Xun's power-play: bind men to his ship with offices. He named himself "Chief Political Minister" and concurrently Zhili governor and Beiyang minister, grabbing the highest power; Zhang Zhenfang took the finance ministry, Lei Zhenchun the army ministry, Liang Dunyan the foreign ministry; Kang Youwei was made vice-president of the Privy Council and tutor; even Xu Shichang was granted "Grand Tutor and Acting Chief" and Feng Guozhang and Lu Rongting given titles from afar. But Feng Guozhang tore up the commission on the spot — he refused. That torn paper was the first crack in Zhang Xun's "unanimous" façade.

The pen of that edict was in Kang Youwei's hand. Sixty now, the "Sage Kang" of the 1898 reform, he picked up the brush to write the restoration edict. During the restoration he did compose poems to declare his purpose, calling it setting things right, an answer to the world; but once restoration failed, he turned and slipped out of Beijing disguised as a farmer, not even gathering his literary talent. Writing the edict he was a pillar; fleeing he was a farmer — Kang Youwei's "loyalty" was far more flexible than Zhang Xun's.

That night, three things in Beijing snapped back to the Qing at once: the dragon flag, hung from the Forbidden City's roofs to the alleys; court robes, dug out from chests and pulled on by old loyalists; and the bow, replacing the Republican handshake and nod, as people bent to one another in the streets. But most of those dragon flags were hung by Zhang Xun's soldiers door to door at gunpoint — in people's hearts, who recognized this emperor? One household took the flag down once the soldiers left; the soldiers came back, saw it, and forced it up again. The flag hung on the wall, not in people's hearts.

Zhang Xun hadn't forgotten Li Yuanhong — he granted him "First-Class Duke" and sent him away. This time Li stood firm: he firmly declined, clutched the presidential seal, and dived into the Japanese legation in the Legation Quarter. Don't underestimate that dive — inside the legation, Li became the very banner of the anti-restoration cause: in the name of the Republican president, he telegraphed Vice-President Feng Guozhang to act in his place, and appointed Duan Qirui as premier to organize the "Punitive Army." Zhang Xun thought that by driving Li out he'd won; he didn't expect that Li's departure handed the legitimacy of "punishing the usurper" straight to Duan Qirui. In this round, who was truly checkmated?

Zhang Xun thought that once the dragon flag flew, the realm would be at peace. He was wrong. Beijing's people refused the flag; Changsha, Guangzhou, Shanghai held rallies to denounce him; one man cut off a finger and wrote in blood "Defend the Constitution, punish the traitor." A restoration farce lit the whole nation's fire at once. Zhang Xun thought he'd lit incense; he'd lit a string of firecrackers — and the fastest blast came from the South and from Machang.

The loudest voice was Sun Yat-sen, far away in Shanghai. He at once issued a "Declaration to Punish the Usurper," denouncing Zhang Xun's "perverse acts" and vowing "never to share the sky with him," then headed south to Guangzhou to set up a rival government and raise an army. Hold this account: was Sun's "anti-restoration" truly only to defend the Constitution? Or, with the North in chaos, was he seizing a pretext to build his own central government? We'll settle that account in Act Five.

The one who truly moved to put down the revolt was Duan Qirui. On July 3, at Machang near Tianjin, he took oath as commander-in-chief of the "Punitive Army." But Duan at first had neither men nor money — he borrowed a sum to buy off the Tianjin garrison commander Li Changtai's troops; pulled back Feng Yuxiang's Sixteenth Mixed Brigade, recently dismissed by Duan himself yet "only obeying its brigade commander"; and added Cao Kun's Third Division (with Wu Peifu in it). With these units gathered, the Punitive Army had capital at last. Zhang Xun "invited" the throne with a sheet of yellow satin; Duan Qirui "bought" the Punitive Army with three piles of silver — in the same Republic, one bound men with loyalty, the other with money; whose rope was tighter?

The moment Duan raised the "punish" banner, the governors who had signed the yellow satin ran faster than anyone. On July 4, Vice-President Feng Guozhong first telegraphed from Nanjing to punish the usurper; then Zhili, Jiangsu, Hubei, Jiangxi — telegram after telegram cursed Zhang Xun. Ridiculous, isn't it? Half a month earlier these men pressed their fingerprints on the satin to "support" him; half a month later, the same hand raised a gun to crusade. In the arena of power, there are no eternal allies, only eternal ledgers. Feng Guozhang now swapped the commission he'd torn for another — as vice-president he prepared to go north and act as acting president. The man who'd refused office now came to pick the fruit.

This punitive telegram was the work of Liang Qichao — This war holds an unavoidable line in China's military history. Qin Guoyong, head of the Nanyuan Aviation School, flew a French "Caudron" trainer from Nanyuan — that was July 7 — over the Forbidden City, and by hand dropped three bombs. This was the first practical aerial bombing by a Chinese aircraft; the imperial palace became a target. Three bombs: one landed outside Longzong Gate, wounding a sedan chair-bearer; one fell into the Imperial Garden pond, chipping the corner; one jammed in the eaves of Longfu Gate — a dud, but it scared the eunuchs mid-game half to death. The Forbidden City fell into chaos; imperial concubines dove under tables, Puyi was hustled back to the Hall of Mental Cultivation by eunuchs. The Times correspondent Morrison wrote: that day over Beijing "not a single bird could fly safely," because the soldiers fired almost all their shots skyward; a great host sprayed "millions of rounds" at Zhang Xun's residence yet not one touched the city wall, only accidentally wounding a passerby three kilometers away — before the battle was truly fought, it had already become farce.

The restoration left the international scene stunned too. Japan had been half-pushing, half-resisting Zhang Xun; the moment Duan raised the punitive banner, the Japanese legation switched its tune and threw its weight behind Duan — even sheltering Li Yuanhong in its legation, handing Duan a "still anchor." The powers calculated shrewdly: whoever could steady Beijing, them they'd recognize. Zhang Xun thought he'd summoned gods; he didn't realize the powers recognized the man with the guns.

The Punitive Army swept through, also because of a turn: the provincial governors who'd "supported restoration" on the yellow satin, the moment the wind shifted, telegraphed to punish Zhang Xun. Ni Sichong changed his face, Zhao Ti changed his face, Zhang Zuolin changed his face too — men who'd pressed fingerprints days before now stepped out one by one to curse Zhang Xun. Zhang Xun went from "chief of thirteen provinces" to public enemy in an instant. This sheet of yellow satin — yesterday's oath, today's everyone's retreat token; the signers ran faster than anyone.

Duan Qirui massed over fifty-seven thousand men and ringed Beijing — that was July 9; Zhang Xun's Queue Army, fit for battle, numbered only fifteen hundred. The outcome was known before the fight began — tell me, did Zhang Xun truly believe those governors would follow him, or had he bet wrong on his last chip? The answer may lie in his complaint after fleeing to the Dutch legation: "I was deceived by them."

The Punitive Army pressed in on two fronts, east (the Beijing-Tianjin line) and west (the Beijing-Hankou line). The western column shattered Zhang Xun's troops around Langfang; Zhang Xun himself held his old Nanchizi residence and resisted stubbornly, ignoring every call to surrender. The foreign legations, with Wang Shizhen mediating, urged him to yield — all refused. In the Nanchizi mansion, Zhang Xun's Queue soldiers blocked the windows and fired outward; the Punitive Army outside also fired at the sky — both sides' gunfire shook the heavens, yet few bullets truly sought a man. A "siege" became a ceremony of shooting at the sky.

After fleeing to the Dutch legation, Zhang Xun said something to visitors, often quoted since: "The restoration was publicly endorsed by the military governors' alliance; I was merely the executor." Do you believe it? The signatures on the yellow satin were real; the provincial governors had indeed nodded. Yet when the Punitive Army reached the city walls, these men ran faster than any. This line of Zhang Xun's was less a defense than a precise toss of the blame back onto that sheet of yellow satin. Zhang Xun kept his queue for life, combing it even inside the legation; people said of him, "the emperor is gone, but the queue remains." The star of the farce lived to the end inside the play he'd written for himself.

At dawn the Punitive Army launched its general assault — that was July 12. The Queue Army broke at first contact — some raised white flags, some cut their own queues while running, throwing down their rifles. Zhang Xun, convinced he'd been "used" by Duan Qirui, fled in panic into the Dutch legation with German help; Kang Youwei slipped out of Beijing disguised as a farmer. That day, Puyi issued the abdication edict again —

The busiest thing on Beijing's streets that day wasn't the army, but scissors — July 12. The Queue soldiers, running, cut their own queues — the marker that had trailed behind their heads days before was now a liability to flee with; on the street people picked up the cut queues by the handful, like pulling leeks. The queue Zhang Xun had guarded his whole life was, in the end, thrown away first by his own soldiers.

Duan Qirui returned to Beijing and retook power, hailed by court and public as the "savior of the Republic" — that was July 14. Li Yuanhong telegraphed his resignation and withdrew from politics; Feng Guozhang went north as acting president in his vice-president capacity. And Zhang Xun? The Beiyang government issued a warrant, but because he held the evidence that the governors' alliance had consented to restoration, he was never truly arrested. In 1918 Xu Shichang pardoned him; he lived in Tianjin, died in 1923 at sixty-nine, and Puyi even gave him the posthumous name "Zhongwu" (Loyal and Martial). The farce's bill was paid by the Republic's last shred of legal order; Duan Qirui pocketed the gain, Li Yuanhong took the fall, and the one who actually went to prison — was none at all.

Duan Qirui won the restoration, yet faced a legitimacy puzzle. After "saving the Republic," he refused to restore the Provisional Constitution and the old parliament — his reason: the old parliament had been "usurped by rebels" and couldn't be reassembled once dissolved, so he built a new parliament to rebuild the legal order. Ask yourself: he'd driven out an emperor, yet had to restart from scratch on "which constitution the Republic should use" — a question with no standard answer. Once restoration was put down, he pushed through the long-shelved declaration of war on Germany and Austria (August 14, 1917), and China formally stepped into the Allied camp; the nation played this move steadily, leaving the constitutional step to a longer history to answer.

Once Zhang Xun fell, Sun Yat-sen at once raised the banner of "anti-restoration, defend the Provisional Constitution," went south to Guangzhou, and in September 1917 formed the "Constitution-Protection Military Government," naming himself grand marshal. Rewind four years — in 1913 he raised the "punish Yuan" banner and took up arms; seven columns of troops, not one held two months, each collapsing at a push, instead handing Yuan Shikai the moral high ground of "putting down rebellion." Now the banner read "defend the constitution," but the playbook was the same: build a rival center, raise an army, name himself supreme commander. Was this "anti-restoration" truly to defend the constitution? Or, with the North in chaos, to seize a pretext for his own central government — the account buried in Act One should now be clear. Once he went south, China split north and south from that day; and "alliance with Russia and the Communists" still lay ahead — that step truly sealed off the road of constitutional government.

How "personal" was Sun's move? The Constitution-Protection Military Government formed that September in Guangzhou, with him as grand marshal; yet the two elected deputy marshals — Tang Jiyao and Lu Rongting — never took office. The southwestern warlords wanted to "protect" their own turf, not Sun's constitution. The North's Duan Qirui drove out the emperor but lost the constitution; the South's Sun Yat-sen raised the constitution but couldn't protect his own government. North and south, one "Republic," one "constitution" on the surface — underneath, both ruled by the gun. That is the truest undercoat of the Republic.

One more word here: during those twelve days of restoration, newspapers still cursed, crowds still marched, one man still cut his finger and wrote in blood — a ridiculous emperor-dream couldn't shut the people's mouths. Say this as contrast, not praise: that social air was something the later Nationalist tutelage period could no longer show. (Contrast: the surveillance and censorship of the tutelage period took even this capital away.)

The restoration farce ended, but the Republic's fire wasn't out. Duan Qirui held power yet refused to restore the constitution; Sun Yat-sen went south and built a rival center. The gun drove out one emperor, yet couldn't stand up a constitution — what these twelve days of absurdity revealed was the Republic's most hollow layer. The fire still burns. Next act, where will it spread?

▶ Watch this episode (images and maps included): They Put the Emperor Back on the Throne — for 12 Days