As soon as I was comfortably settled in my new studio, the Empress Dowager began to talk of having another large portrait begun--large enough to represent her with all the paraphernalia of Royalty (the ceremonial fans, the three-fold screen, the nine phenix, plants of heavenly bamboo) and pyramids of apples--all emblematic, or symbolic. I told Her Majesty it would be best to make a small study for this picture, and that the size of the portrait could be determined on after this was finished. She readily assented, and I began the small study. There were a number of beautiful thrones in the Palace, any one of which would have suited the lines of the composition. I selected one of the superb, antique thrones of red lacquer, a magnificent work of art, but the Empress Dowager did not care for this throne. It was not a matter of whether the lines or color suited the picture, the point was to have everything “Ho-shih” (proper), as the Chinese say. With the Chinese, propriety is a religion, and a thing that is “proper” must conform to tradition, for tradition and propriety are synonymous. The question of the throne was left in abeyance for the moment, as Her Majesty said there was one she would like to have painted, which she would have found before I began the big picture. [Illustration: PRINCE CHING] I finally began the sketch. Her Majesty was dressed in one of her official winter gowns. Its fur lining rendered the already heavily embroidered satin stiffer than ever, and any stray folds that might perchance have appeared, were pulled out by a heavy fringe of pearls around the hem. She had on her famous pearl mantle over an official jacket. In her coiffure she wore her long tassel of pearls, and many curious ceremonial jewels. She had on fur-lined undersleeves, which hid half her beautiful hands. The effect of her tiny finger-tips, with their long curving nails and jeweled shields, the palms not being visible, was most unfortunate. Added to this, she held them tightly together in her lap, and the lines were obscured by a large, pale-blue handkerchief in one hand. My heart fell. Thus I would lose one of her chief beauties. I begged Lady Yu-Keng to ask her to pose her hands differently. She said she could not do such a thing; so, in my inelegant Chinese, I told Her Majesty I did not like her hands as they were. “But I like them like that,” she said, looking at me with a charming expression of amused astonishment, amazed that it was possible for any one not to like what she liked; and she kept her hands as they were, and I was obliged to begin the picture with the hands in that position.