The preceding chapter contains a general view of the plan upon which the central and provincial governments of the Empire are constructed; and if an examination of the conduct of officers in every department shows their extortion, cruelty, and venality, it will not, in the opinion of the liberal-minded reader, detract from the general excellence of the theory of the government, and the sagacity exhibited in the system of checks designed to restrain the various parts from interfering with the well-being of the whole. In addition to the division of power and the restrictions upon Chinese officers already mentioned, there are other means adopted in their location and alternation to prevent combination and resistance against the head of the state. One of them is the law forbidding a man to hold any civil office in his native province, which, besides stopping all intrigue where it would best succeed, has the further effect of congregating aspirants for office at Peking, where they come in hope of obtaining some post, or of succeeding in the examination for the highest literary degrees. The central government could not contrive a better plan for bringing all the ambitious and talented men in the country under its observation before appointing them to clerkships in the capital, or scattering them in the provinces.

Moreover, no officer is allowed to marry in the jurisdiction under his control, nor own land in it, nor have a son, brother, or near relative holding office under him; and he is seldom continued in the same station or province for more than three or four years. Manchus and Chinese are mingled together in high stations, and obligations are imposed on certain grandees to inform the Emperor of each other’s acts. Members of the imperial clan are required to attend the meetings of the Boards at the capital, and observe and report what they deem amiss or of interest to the Emperor and his council; while in all the upper departments of the general and provincial governments, a system of espionage is carried out, detrimental to all principles of honorable fidelity, such as we look for in officials, but not without some good effects in a weak despotism like China. There is, besides this constant surveillance, a triennial catalogue made out of the merits and demerits of all officers in the Empire, which is submitted to imperial inspection by the Board of Civil Office. In order to collect the details for this catalogue, it is incumbent upon every provincial officer to report upon the character and qualifications of those under him, and the list, when made out, is forwarded by the governor to the capital. The points of character are arranged under six different heads, viz.: those who are not diligent, the inefficient, the superficial, the untalented, superannuated, and diseased. According to the opinion given in this report, officers are elevated or degraded so many steps in the scale of merit, like school-boys in a class, and whenever they issue an edict are required to state how many steps they have been advanced or degraded, and how many times recorded. Officers are required to accuse themselves, when guilty of crime, either in their own conduct or that of their subordinates, and request punishment. The results of this peculiar and patriarchal mode of teaching officers their duty will be best exhibited by quoting from a rescript of Taukwang’s, issued in February, 1837, after one of the catalogues had been submitted to his Majesty.

The effect of such confessions and examination of character is to restrain the commission of outrageous acts of oppression; it is still further enforced by the privilege, common alike to censors and private subjects, of complaining to the Emperor of misdeeds done to them by persons in authority. Fear for their own security has suggested this multiplicity of checks, but the Emperor and his ministry have no doubt thereby impeded the efficiency of their subordinates, and compelled them to attend so much to their own standing that they care far less than they otherwise would for the prosperity of the people.

The position of an officer in the Chinese government can hardly be ascertained from the enumeration of his duties, nor can we easily appreciate, from a general account of the system, his temptations to oppress inferiors and deceive superiors. His duties, as indicated in the code, are so minute, and often so contradictory, as to make it impossible to fulfil them strictly; it is found, accordingly, that few or none have ascended the slippery heights of promotion without frequent relapses. Degradation, when to a step or two and temporary, carries with it of course no moral taint in a country where the award for bribery is graduated to the amount received, without any reference to moral violation; where the bamboo is the standard of punishment as well for error in judgment or remissness as for crime—only commuted to a fine in honor of official rank; where, as a distinction in favor of the imperial race, the bamboo is softened to the whip and banishment mitigated to the pillory.[241] The highest officers have of course the greatest opportunity to oppress, but their extortions are limited by the venality and mendacity of the agents they are compelled to employ. Inferiors also can carry on a system of exactions if they keep on the right side of those above them. The whole class form a body of men mutually jealous of each other’s advance, where every incumbent endeavors to supplant his associate; they all agree in regarding the people as the source of their profits, the sponge which all must squeeze, but differ in the degree to which they should carry on the same plan with each other. Although sprung from the mass of the people, the welfare of the community has little place in their thoughts. Their life is spent in ambitious efforts to rise upon the fall of others, though they do not lose all sense of character or become reckless of the means of advance, for this would destroy their chance of success. The game they play with each other and their imperial master is, however, a harmless one compared with what was done in old Rome or in Europe four or five centuries ago, or even lately among the pashas and viziers of the sultans and shahs in Western Asia. To the honor of the Chinese, life is seldom sacrificed for political crime or envious emulation; no officer dreads a bowstring or a poisoned cup from his lord paramount, nor is he on the watch against the dagger of an assassin hired by a vindictive competitor. Whatever heights of favor or depths of umbrage he may experience, the servant of the Emperor of China need not, in unproved cases of delinquency, fear for his life; but he not unfrequently takes it himself from conscious guilt and dread of just punishment.

The names and standing of all officers are published quarterly by permission of government in the Red Book (which by an unusual coincidence is bound in red), called the “Complete Record of the Girdle Wearers” (Tsin Shin Tsiuen Shu), comprised in four volumes, 12mo, to which are added two others of the Army and Bannermen. This publication was first issued at the command of Wanlih, of the Ming dynasty, about 1580, and mentions the native province of each person, whether Chinese, Manchu, Mongol, or enrolled Chinese, describes the title of the office, its salary, and gives much general information. The publishers of the book expect that officers will inform them of the changes that take place in their standing, and sometimes omit to mention those who do not thus report themselves.

A memoir of the public life of a high officer in China would present a singular picture of ups and downs, but, on account of their notorious disregard of truth, Chinese documents are unsafe to trust entirely in drawing such a sketch. One of the most conspicuous men in late times was Duke Ho, the premier in the time of Macartney’s embassy, who for many years exercised a greater control over the counsels of a Chinese sovereign than is recorded of any other man during the present dynasty. This man was originally a private person, who attracted the notice of the Emperor by his comeliness, and secured it by his zeal in discharging the offices entrusted to him. With but few interruptions he gradually mounted the ladder of promotion, and for some years before Kienlung’s death, when the latter’s energies had begun to fail from age, was virtual master of the country. Staunton describes him as possessing eminent abilities; “the manners of Hokwăn were not less pleasing than his understanding was penetrating and acute. He seemed indeed to possess the qualities of a perfect statesman.”[242] The favorite had gradually filled the highest posts with his friends, and his well-wishers were so numerous in the general and provincial governments that some began to apprehend a rising in his favor when the Emperor died. Kiaking, on coming to the throne, began to take those cautious measures for his removal which showed the great influence he possessed; one of these proceedings was to appoint him superintendent of the rites of mourning, in order, probably, that his official duties might bring him often to the palace. After four years the Emperor drew up sixteen articles of impeachment, most of them frivolous and vexatious, though of more consequence in the eyes of a Chinese prince than they would have been at other courts. One article alleged that he had ridden on horseback up to the palace gate; another, that he had appropriated to his own household the females educated for the imperial harem; a third, that he had detained the reports of officers in time of war from coming to the Emperor’s eye, and had appointed his own retainers to office, when they were notoriously incompetent; a fourth, that he had built many apartments of nan-muh, a kind of laurel-wood exclusively appropriated to royalty, and imitated regal style in his grounds and establishment; a fifth, that “on the day previous to our Royal Father’s announcement of our election as his successor, Hokwăn waited upon us and presented the insignia of the newly conferred rank—thereby betraying an important secret of state, in hopes of obtaining our favor.” He was also accused of having pearls and jewels of larger size than those even in the Emperor’s regalia. But so far as can be inferred from what was published, this Cardinal Wolsey of China was, comparatively speaking, not cruel in the exercise of his power, and the real cause of his fall was evidently his riches. In the schedule of his confiscated property it was mentioned that besides houses, lands, and other immovable property to an amazing extent, not less than one hundred and five millions of dollars in bullion and gems were found in his treasury. A special tribunal was instituted for his trial, and he was allowed to become his own executioner, while his constant associate was beheaded. These were the only deaths, the remainder of his relatives and dependents being simply removed and degraded. His power was no doubt too great for the safety of his master if he had proved faithless; but his wealth was too vast for his own security, even had he been innocent. The Emperor, in the edict which contains the sentence, cites as a precedent for his own acts similar condemnation of premiers by three of his ancestors in the present dynasty, but nothing definite is known of their crimes or trials.[243]

Taukwang was more clement, or more fortunate than his father, and upon coming to the throne continued Tohtsin in power; this statesman had held the premiership from 1815 to 1832, with but few interruptions, when he was allowed to retire at the age of seventy-five. He had served under three emperors, having risen step by step from the situation of clerk in one of the offices. His successor, Changling, experienced a far more checkered course, but remained in favor at last, and retired from the premiership in 1836, aged about seventy-nine. He became very popular with his master from his ability in quelling the insurrection of Jehangír in Turkestan in 1827. Even a few such instances of the honor in which an upright, energetic, and wise minister is regarded by prince and people have great influence in encouraging young men to act in the same way.

Few Chinese statesmen have been oftener brought into the notice of western foreigners than Sung, one of the commissioners attached to Lord Macartney’s embassy, and a favorite of all its members. His lordship speaks of him then as a young man of high quality, possessing an elevated mind; and adds that “during the whole time of our connection with him he has on all occasions conducted himself toward us in the most friendly and gentleman-like manner.” This was in 1793. In 1817 he is mentioned as one of the Cabinet; but not long after, for some unknown reason, he was degraded by Kiaking to the sixth rank, and appointed adjutant-general among the Tsakhar Mongols; from thence he memorialized his master respecting the ill conduct of some lamas, who had been robbing and murdering. Sung and his friends opposed the Emperor’s going to Manchuria, and were involved in some trouble on this account, the reasons of which it is difficult to understand. He was promoted, however, to be captain-general of Manchuria, but again fell under censure, and on his visit to his paternal estate at Mukden the Emperor took him back to the capital and appointed him to some important office. He soon got into new trouble with the Emperor, who in a proclamation remarks that “Sung is inadequate to the duties of minister of the imperial presence; because, although he formerly officiated as such, he is now upward of seventy years of age, and rides badly on horseback;” he is therefore sent to Manchuria to fill his old office of captain-general. The next year the ex-minister and his adherents were involved in a long trial about the loss of a seal, and he was deprived of his command and directed to retire to his own Banner; the real reasons of this disgrace were probably connected with the change of parties ensuent upon the accession of Taukwang.

Soon afterward Sung was restored to favor and made adjutant at Jeh ho, after having been president of the Censorate for a month. He was allowed to remain there longer than usual, and employed his spare time in writing a book upon the newly acquired territory in Turkestan. In 1824 he was reinstated as president of the Censorate, with admonitions not to confuse and puzzle himself with a multiplicity of extraneous matters. In 1826 he was sent on a special commission to Shansí, and when he returned was honored with a dinner at court on new year’s day. He then appears as travelling tutor to the crown-prince, but where his royal highness went for his education does not appear; from this post we find him made president of the Board of Rites, and appointed to inspect the victims for a state sacrifice. He is then ordered to Jeh ho, from whence, in a fit of penitence, or perhaps from fear of a dun, he memorialized the Emperor about a debt of $52,000 he had incurred nearly thirty years before, which he proposed to liquidate by foregoing his salary of $1,000 until the arrears were paid up; the Emperor was in good humor with the old man, and forgave him the whole amount, being assured, he says, of Sung’s pure official character. In this memorial, when recounting his services, the aged officer says that he has been twice commander-in-chief and governor of Ílí, governor-general at Nanking, Canton, etc., but had never saved much.

Shortly after this he is recalled from Jeh ho and made tí-tuh of Peking, then president of the Board of War; and in a few months he is ordered to proceed across the desert to Cobdo to investigate some affair of importance—a long and toilsome journey of fifteen hundred miles for a man over seventy-five years old. He returned the next year and resumed his post as president of the Board of War, in which capacity he acted as examiner of the students in the Russian College. In 1831 he was made president of the Colonial Office, and later received an appointment as superintendent of the Three Treasuries, but was obliged to resign from ill health. A month’s relaxation seems to have wonderfully restored him, for the Emperor, in reply to his petition for employment, expresses surprise that he should so soon be fit for official duties, and plainly intimates his opinion that the disease was all sham, though he accedes to his request so far as to nominate him commander of one of the eight Banners. In 1832 Sung again became involved in intrigues, and was reduced to the third degree of rank; the resignation of Tohtsin and the struggle for the vacant premiership was probably the real reason of this new reverse, though a frivolous accusation of two years’ standing was trumped up against him. He was restored again, after a few months’ disgrace, at the petition of a beg of a city in Turkestan, which illustrates, by the way, the influence which those princes exert. Old age now began to come upon the courtier in good earnest, and in 1833 he was ordered to retire with the rank and pay of adjutant, which he lived to enjoy only two years. Much of the success of Sung was said to be owing to his having had a daughter in the harem, but his personal character and kindness were evidently the main sources of his enduring influence among all ranks of people and officers; one account says the Manchus almost worshipped him, and beggars clung to his chair in the streets to ask alms. It is worthy of notice that in all his reverses there is no mention made of any severer punishment than degradation or banishment, and in this particular the political life of Sung is probably a fair criterion of the usual fortune of high Chinese statesmen. The leading events in the life of Changling, the successor of Tohtsin, together with a few notices of the governor of Canton in 1833, Lí Hung-pin, are given in the Repository.[244]

Commissioners Lin and Kíying became more famous among foreigners than their compeers in the capital, from the parts they acted in the war with England in 1840, but only a few notices of their lives are accessible. Lin Tseh-sü was born in 1785, in Fuhchau, and passed through the literary examinations, becoming a graduate of the second rank at the age of nineteen, and of the third when twenty-six. After filling an office or two in the Imperial Academy, he was sent as assistant literary examiner to Kiangsí in 1816, and during three subsequent years acted as examiner and censor in various places. In 1819 he filled the office of intendant of circuit, in Chehkiang; and after absence on account of health, he was, in 1823, appointed to the post of treasurer of Kiangsu, in the absence of the incumbent. In 1826 he was made overseer of the Yellow River, but hearing of his mother’s death, resigned his office to mourn for her. After the period of mourning was finished he went to Peking and received the office of judge in Shensí; but before he had been in it a month he was made treasurer of Kiangsu, and before he could enter upon this new office he heard of his father’s death, and was obliged to resign once more. In 1832 he was nominated treasurer in Hupeh, and five months later transferred to the same office in Honan, and six months after that sent to Kiangsu again. Three months after this third transfer he was reinstated overseer of the Yellow River, and within a short time elevated to be governor of Kiangsí, which he retained three years, and acted as governor-general of Liang Kiang two years more. In 1838 he was made governor-general of Hu Kwang; and shortly after this ordered to come to Peking to be admitted to an imperial audience, and by special favor permitted to ride on horseback within the palace.

He was at this audience appointed imperial commissioner to put down the opium trade and manage the affairs of the maritime frontier of Kwantung, receiving at the time such plenipotentiary powers to act for the Emperor as had only once before been committed to a subject since 1644, viz., when Changling was sent to Turkestan to quell the insurrection. Lin’s ill success in dealing with the opium trade and its upholders in the British government reflect no discredit on his own ability, for the task was beyond the powers of the Empire; but his fame even now stands high among the Cantonese. One incident showing his kindness to the crew of the Sunda, an English vessel lost on Hainan Island, on their arrival in Canton in October, 1839, while he was fighting their consular officers, gave a good insight into the candor of the man. In December, 1839, he was appointed governor-general of Liang Kiang; but succeeded to that of Liang Kwang in February, 1840. In October of the same year the seals of office were taken away, and he was ordered to return to Peking. He remained, however, till May of the next year to advise with Kíshen in his difficult negotiations with the English. Lin left Canton in May, 1841, leading two thousand troops to defend Ningpo, but this rôle was not his forte. In July, 1842, he was banished to Ílí, but the sentence was suspended for a season by giving him a third time the oversight of the Yellow River. However, in 1844 we find him in Ílí, holding an inferior appointment and trying to bring waste lands near the Mohammedan cities under cultivation; his zeal was rewarded the next year by a pardon, and the year after that by the high post of governor-general of Shensí and Kansuh, in which region he set himself to work to reform the civil service and increase the revenue. In 1847 the cares of office wore upon him, so that he asked for a furlough and went back to Fuhchau, aged sixty-two. His ambition was not yet satisfied, for he was made governor-general in Yunnan in 1848, but his strength was not equal to its duties, and he again retired in 1849. The young Emperor Hienfung, startled at the rapid rise of the Tai-ping rebels, applied to the aged statesman to help him as he had his father. Lin responded to the call of his sovereign, but death came upon him before he reached Kwangsí, on the 22d of November, 1850, at the age of sixty-seven. More enduring than some of his official acts was the preparation and publication of the History of Maritime Nations, with maps, in fifty books, in which he gave his countrymen all the details he could gather of other nations.[245]

Much less is known of the official life of Kíying than of Lin, but the Manchu proved himself superior to the Chinese in trimming his course to meet the inevitable and avoid the rocks his predecessor struck. In 1835 his name is mentioned as president of the Board of Revenue and controller of the Tsung-jin fu. He was detained at the capital as commander-in-chief of the forces there until 1842, when his Majesty sent him to Canton to take the place of Yihshan. He was ordered to stop at Hangchau, however, on his way, and make a report of the condition of affairs; his memorials seem to have had great influence, for he was appointed joint commissioner with Ílípu in April of that year. At the negotiations of Nanking Kíying acted as chief commissioner, and was mainly instrumental in bringing the war to a conclusion. He proceeded to Canton in May, 1843, to succeed Ílípu, and there acted as sole commissioner in negotiating the supplementary treaty and the commercial regulations with the British, returning to the capital in December, 1843. His prudence and vigor had great effect in calming the irritation of the people of Canton. On the arrival of the American plenipotentiary he was vested with full powers to treat with Mr. Cushing, and soon after with the French and Swedish envoys, with all of whom he signed treaties. During the progress of these negotiations Kí Kung died and Kíying succeeded him.

His administration as governor-general continued till January, 1848, when he returned to Peking to receive higher honors from the Emperor. In 1849 he went to Kiangsu to inquire into the salt department, and then to Northern Shansí to settle differences with the Mongols. From this period he held various posts in the cabinet and capital, busy in all court intrigues, and rather losing his good name, till he fell into disgrace. In 1856, when the envoys of the four western Powers were at Tientsin, he entered into some underhand dealings against the policy of Kweiliang and Hwashana, and was sent there as joint commissioner. He had hardly entered upon his functions by the presentation of his commission, when he suddenly returned to Peking against the Emperor’s will, and was ordered to take poison in the presence of the head of the Clan to avoid the ignominy of a public execution.[246] Few Chinese statesmen in modern times have borne a higher character for prudence, dignity, and intelligence than Kíying, and the confidence reposed in him is creditable to his imperial master. In his demeanor, says Sir Thomas Wade, “there was a combination of dignity and courtesy which more than balanced the deficiencies of a by no means attractive exterior.” The portrait of him has been engraved from a native painting made at Canton, and is a good one. It was kindly furnished for this work by J. R. Peters, Jr.

The facts of this man’s career are not all known, but his connection by birth with the Clan brought him into an entirely different set of influences from Lin, while his training removed him from the contact with the people which made the other so popular and influential. Both of them were good instances of Chinese statesmen, and their checkered lives as here briefly noticed resemble that of their compeers in the highest grades of official dignity. The sifting which the personnel of the Emperor’s employees in all their various grades receive generally brings the cleverest and most trustworthy to the top; no one can come in contact with them in state affairs without an increase of respect for their shrewdness, loyalty, and skill. One observable feature of the Chinese political world is the great age of the high officers, and it is not easy to account for their being kept in their posts, when almost worn out, by a monarch who wished to have efficient men around him, until we learn how little real power he can arbitrarily exert over the details of the branches of his government. It is somewhat explainable on the ground that, as long as the old incumbents are alive, the Emperor, being more habituated to their company and advice, prefers to retain those whose competency has been proven by their service. The patriarch, kept near the Emperor, is moreover a kind of hostage for the loyalty of his following; and the latter, scattered throughout the provinces, can be managed and moved about through him with less opposition: he is, still further, a convenient medium through which to receive the exactions of the younger members of the service, and convey such intimations as are thought necessary. The system of clientelage which existed among the Gauls and Franks is also found in China with some modifications, and has a tendency to link officers to one another in parties of different degrees of power. The Emperor published an order in 1833 against this system of patronage, and it is evident that he would find it seriously interfering with his power were it not constantly broken up by changing the relations of the parties and sending them away in different directions. Peking is almost the only place where the “teacher and pupils,” as the patron and client call each other, could combine to much purpose; and the principal safeguard the throne seems to have against intrigues and parties around it lies in the conflicting interests arising among themselves, though a long-established or unscrupulous favorite, as in the cases of Duke Ho and Suhshun in 1855-61, can sometimes manage to engross the whole power of the crown.

Notwithstanding the heavy charges of oppression, cruelty, bribery, and mendacity which are often brought against officers with more or less justice, it must not be inferred that no good qualities exist among them. Thousands of them desire to rule equitably, to clear the innocent and punish the guilty, and exert all the knowledge and power they possess to discharge their functions to the acceptance of their master and their own good name among the inhabitants. Such officers, too, generally rise, while the cruelties of others are visited with degradation. The pasquinades which the people stick up in the streets indicate their sentiments, and receive much more attention than would such vulgar expressions in other countries, because it is almost the only way in which their opinions can be safely uttered. The popularity which upright officers receive acts as an incentive to others to follow in the same steps, as well as a reward to the person himself. The governor of Kwangtung in 1833, Chu, was a very popular officer, and when he obtained leave to resign his station on account of age, the people vied with each other in showing their hearty regret at losing him. The old custom was observed of retaining his boots and presenting him with a new pair at every city he passed through, and many other testimonials of their regard were adopted. On leaving the city of Canton he circulated a few verses, “to console the people and excite them to virtue,” for he heard that some of them wept on learning of his departure.

Ílípu, Kí Kung, the late governor-general of Kwangtung, and Shu, the prefect of Ningpo in 1842, are other officers who have been popular in late years. When Lin passed through Macao in 1839, the Chinese had in several places erected honorary portals adorned with festoons of silk and laudatory scrolls; and when he passed the doors of their houses and shops they set out tables decorated with vases of flowers, “in order to manifest their profound gratitude for his coming to save them from a deadly vice, and for removing from them a dire calamity by the destruction and severe interdiction of opium.” Alas, that his efforts and intentions should have been so fruitless!

The Peking Gazette frequently contains petitions from old officers describing their ailments, their fear lest they shall not be able to perform their duties, the length of their official service, and requesting leave of absence or permission to retire. It is impossible to regard all the expressions of loyalty in these papers, coming as they do from every class of officers, as heartless and made out according to a prescribed form; but we are too ready to measure them by our own standard and fashion, forgetting that it is not the defects of a system which give the best standard of its value and efficiency. Let us rather, as an honest expression of feeling, quote a few lines from a memorial of Shí, a censor in 1824: “Reflecting within myself that, notwithstanding the decay of my strength, it has still pleased the imperial goodness to employ me in a high office instead of rejecting and discarding me at once, I have been most anxious to effect a cure, in order that, a weak old horse as I am, it might be still in my power, by the exertion of my whole strength, to recompense a ten-thousandth part of the benevolence which restored me to life.”[252]

Connected with the triennial schedule of official merits and demerits is the necessity the high officers of state are under of confessing their faults of government; and the two form a peculiar and somewhat stringent check upon their intrigues and malversation, making them, as Le Comte observes, “exceeding circumspect and careful, and sometimes even virtuous against their own inclinations.” The confessions reported in the Peking Gazette are, however, by no means satisfactory as to the real extent or nature of these acts; most of the confessors are censors, and perhaps it is in virtue of their office that they thus sit in judgment upon themselves. Examples of the crimes mentioned are not wanting. The governor-general of Chihlí requested severe punishment in 1832 for not having discovered a plotting demagogue who had collected several thousand adherents in his and the next provinces; his request was granted. An admiral in the same province demands punishment for not having properly educated his son, as thereby he went mad and wounded several people. Another calls for judgment upon himself because the Empress-dowager had been kept waiting at the palace gate by the porters when she paid her Majesty a visit. One officer accused himself for not being able to control the Yellow River; and his Majesty’s cook in 1830 requested punishment for being too late in presenting his bill of fare, but was graciously forgiven. The rarity of these confessions, compared with the actual sins, shows either that they are, like a partridge’s doublings, made to draw off attention from the real nest of malversation, or that few officers are willing to undergo the mortification.

The Emperor, in his character of vicegerent of heaven, occasionally imposes the duty of self-confession upon himself. Kiaking issued several public confessions during his reign, but the Gazette has not contained many such papers within the last thirty years. These confessions are drawn from him more by natural calamities, such as drought, freshets, epidemics, etc., than by political causes, though insurrections, fires, ominous portents, etc., sometimes induce them. The personal character of the monarch has much to do with their frequency and phraseology. On occasion of a drought in 1817 the Emperor Kiaking said: “The remissness and sloth of the officers of government constitute an evil which has long been accumulating. It is not the evil of a day; for several years I have given the most pressing admonitions on the subject, and have punished many cases which have been discovered, so that recently there appears a little improvement, and for several seasons the weather has been favorable. The drought this season is not perhaps entirely on their (the officers’) account. I have meditated upon it, and am persuaded that the reason why the azure Heavens above manifest disapprobation by withholding rain for a few hundred miles only around the capital, is that the fifty and more rebels who escaped are secreted somewhere near Peking. Hence it is that fertile vapors are fast bound, and the felicitous harmony of the seasons interrupted.” On the 14th of May, 1818, between five and six o’clock in the evening, a sudden darkness enveloped the capital, attended by a violent wind from the southeast and much rain. During its action two intervals occurred when the sky became a lurid red and the air offensive, terrible claps of thunder startling the people and frightening the monarch. His astrologers could not relieve his forebodings of evil, and he issued a manifesto to explain the matter to his subjects and discharge his own conscience. One sentence is worth quoting: “Calumnious accusations cause the ruin and death of a multitude of innocent people; they alone are capable of provoking a sign as terrible as this one just seen. The wind coming from the southeast is proof enough that some great crime has been committed in that region, which the officials, by neglecting their duties, have ignored, and thereby excited the ire of Heaven.”[253]

One of the most remarkable specimens of these papers is a prayer for rain issued by Taukwang, July 24, 1832, on occasion of a severe drought at the capital. Before publishing this paper he had endeavored to mollify the anger and heat of heaven by ordering all suspected and accused persons in the prisons of the metropolis to be tried, and their guilt or innocence established, in order that the course of justice might not be delayed, and witnesses be released from confinement. But these vicarious corrections did not avail, and the drought continuing, he was obliged, as high-priest of the Empire, to show the people that he was mindful of their sufferings, and would relieve them, if possible, by presenting the following memorial:

This paper apparently intimates some acknowledgment of a ruling power above, and before a despot like the Emperor of China would place himself in such an equivocal posture before his people, he would assure himself very thoroughly of their sentiments; for its effects as a state paper would be worse than null if the least ridicule was likely to be thrown upon it. In this case heavy showers followed the same evening, and appropriate thanksgivings were ordered and oblations presented before the six altars of heaven, earth, land, and grain, and the gods of heaven, earth, and the revolving year.