The following account of how mandarins are made is based upon an article of mine, for the most part translated from a paper by a native graduate, and published in Macmillan’s Magazine in 1871:—
At the age of from six to eight years the Chinese boy is removed from the petting and pampering of the women’s apartments and is sent to school, where he receives his first lessons in reading and writing as purely mechanical processes. He is taught to read by droning out passages from the classics in hideous unison with his schoolmates, and to write by painting over characters printed on thin whitey-brown paper. This preliminary process of education lasts for some two years or more, at the end of which the young student is looked upon as sufficiently advanced to be instructed in the meaning of what he reads. The books now put into his hands are, of course, the famous Four Books and the Five Classics, every passage in which, with its hidden obscurities and doubtful interpretations, is diligently and painfully explained to him, until not only the text itself, but also every note and commentary with which successive ages of scholars have overlaid it, are familiar in his mouth as household words. Having accomplished this end the youth is allowed to try a flight upon his own wings, and begins to write essays and poetry, which, by useful and assiduous reading, he must model upon the best patterns. “Poetry of the Tang dynasty, handwriting of the Chin dynasty, essays of the Han dynasty,” says the proverb; these, with all humility, should the student endeavour to follow at however great a distance.
As soon as the young man’s compositions begin to take some sort of shape, and to satisfy the keen criticism of his master, when his language is neatly fitted to his thoughts, and he does not use so much as a particle out of its place, he may look forward to preparing himself to undergo his examination for the degree of Hsin Tsai, or Bachelor of Arts.
The examiner for this degree is an officer from the Han Lin (lit. Forest of Pencils), or Imperial Academy of Peking, and is specially appointed by the Emperor; one examiner is appointed for each province throughout the country, and he holds his examinations from town to town in the chief places of the province to which he is accredited.
We will suppose the examination to be taking place at Shun Ti̔en Fu, the provincial capital of Chih Li (the province in which Peking is situated). The examiner, having arrived with no small arrogance of dignity, takes up his abode in the Examination Hall inside the town. On an appointed day the undergraduate candidates from the various Chou and Hsien, or lesser towns which are dependent upon Shun Ti̔en Fu, crowd into the hall, and take their places each according to the township to which he may belong. As soon as his flock is gathered together, the examiner gives out two themes selected from the Four Books to serve as texts for essays, and one subject for an exercise in verse. Each candidate is expected to produce two essays and one set of twelve verses in rhyme; but he has plenty of time to perform his task, for the examination begins at four o’clock in the morning, and the papers are not given in until between five and seven o’clock in the evening. On the third day the examination list is given out: the examiner writes out the names of the successful candidates in order of merit, and gives it to the overseers of the hall, who, carrying it respectfully on their heads, go out and paste it on the wall fronting the entrance gate. Then follows a scene of excitement when the undergraduates besiege the gate to search for their names on the list. (Oxford over again!) “Should they have been successful,” says a native account, “they are now entitled to call themselves Hsin Tsai, and are so delighted that in their joy everything in heaven and earth seems lovely to them,” and they look forward to the day when they will receive the much-coveted official button.[19] The unhappy plucked ones must make the best of it and try again. Even now the Hsin Tsai’s troubles are not over; for there is a second examination, in which they are divided into three classes—the first class being privileged graduates eligible for honorary degrees entitling the possessors to become candidates for bettermost civil appointments. There is yet another distinction open to the privileged bachelors. Once in twelve years the degree of Pa Kung is given to a representative of each petty township: it is also conferred on the successful competitor in an examination held of privileged bachelors, in which case it is awarded to the cleverest, most respectable, and youngest of his class. When certain official appointments of an inferior grade are about to be made, the Emperor summons the bachelors of the grade of Pa Kung to court, where they are again made to go through an examination, and divided into three classes. The members of the first class are employed as brass button mandarins (officials of the seventh, eighth, and ninth classes); those of the second class are sent to be Chih Hsien, or magistrates of small towns; while the remainder are only eligible for employment as assistants in the public examinations.
Such, briefly, are the honours and offices open to a man who has passed his first examination. The degree of Chü Jên is a much more serious affair.
This examination takes place in fixed years; and when the appointed time comes all bachelors ambitious of promotion, together with a class of graduates called Chien Shêng, who have purchased their degree, prepare in fear and trembling for the ordeal.
On the 6th day of the 8th month of the year an Imperial decree is issued, appointing the officials who are to conduct the examination. There are three chief examiners and eighteen assistant examiners, with a whole number of subordinates, who search the candidates as they come in, to see that no books, or memoranda, or other aids to intelligence, are smuggled in; besides these there is a strong posse of Imperial informers, who watch all that goes on, and keep up a sort of secret police in the hall. The whole of the compositions of the masters expectant are handed over to copyists, who transcribe them, lest the handwritings of the candidates being recognised by the examiners there should be any foul play, and the copies so made are compared with the originals by clerks appointed for the purpose. Besides all these persons, there are 180 minor officials who superintend all petty details. The examination is divided into three parts. On the 8th day of the month the first part begins. The candidates are divided into four companies, to each of which is assigned a door. At each of the doors stand two Imperial informers—the one a Manchu, the other a Chinese—whose duty it is to mark off the names of the candidates, and to distribute to each a roll of paper, giving the number of the cell allotted to him, to which he carries his provision of food and bedding, for he will be locked up in solitary confinement for three days and nights. In the evening, when the candidates have all been pricked in, every door is sealed, and all coming in or going out is rendered impossible.
The exercises set for the first part of the examination consist of three essays from the Four Books, and one composition in verse. The first subject is selected, or supposed to be selected, by the Emperor in person, and the remainder are chosen by the chief examiners. The Cycle, an English newspaper published at Shanghai, once gave the texts chosen for such exercises at an examination held at Wu Chang.
I. From the Lun Yu, the Analects of Confucius:—“Tsŭ Yu, being governor of Wu Ching, the master said to him, ‘Have you got such a thing as a real Man in the place?’ He answered, ‘Here is Tan Tai Mieh Ming, who does not in walking side off by a short cut, nor come to my office except on public business.’”