Society is divided into two classes—the people and the mandarins. Nobility is hereditary, but the son of a mandarin of the first order ranks only with the second until he has done something to merit promotion to his father's rank. In like manner the son of a second-class mandarin belongs to the third rank, and so on to the lowest grade; and there are nine of these—the highest two sitting in the imperial council. But the most exalted honors are open to the most humble. No man is so low born as to despair of becoming one of the pillars of the empire. The competition system prevails here in its full vigor. Everything depends upon the passing certain examinations; but for all that the mandarins are described as oppressors of the poor, evil advisers of the sovereign, addicted to fraud, given up to their appetites, wasting their time in sensual and frivolous pursuits, corrupt and venal in the administration of justice.
The patrimony is distributed equally among all the sons, whether legitimate or otherwise, except that the eldest receives one-tenth of the entire property in addition to his own share; in return for which he is expected to guard the interests of the family, and above all to look after his sisters, who cannot marry without his consent. The daughters have no part in the inheritance save in the absence of male heirs, but in that case they are treated as if they were sons. Through extreme poverty children are often sold as slaves by their parents. An insolvent debtor likewise becomes the bondsman of his creditor; and as the legal rate of interest is thirty per cent., a debt rapidly accumulates.
An Anamite hour is twice the length of a European one, and the night is divided into five watches. A year consists of twelve lunar months; so that every two or three years it becomes necessary to add another month: in nineteen years there are seventeen of these intercalated months. The lapse of time is marked by periods of twelve years, five of which constitute a "grand cycle;" but in historical narratives the dates are calculated from the accession of the reigning monarch. The year begins with the month of February. The decimal system of enumeration is the one adopted by the Cochin Chinese.
The religion of the people is a superstitious Buddhism; that of the lettered classes a dormant belief in the moral teachings of Confucius. Whatever temples there are, are of a mean order, and are served by an ignorant and ill-paid priesthood. The malignant spirits are propitiated by offerings of burnt paper inscribed with prayers, of bundles of sweet-scented wood, and of other articles of trifling value; the good spirits are mostly neglected. Sincere veneration, however, is shown to the manes of deceased ancestors. The priests take a vow of celibacy, to which they occasionally adhere. They abstain entirely from animal food, and affect a yellow or red hue in their apparel. After death their bodies are burned, and not buried as is the case with the laity.
The inhabitants of Cochin China are naturally industrious, and possess considerable skill as carpenters and upholsterers. They also work in iron with some success, and display no mean taste in their pottery. Their cotton and silk manufactures are, however, coarse and greatly inferior to the Chinese. Their lackered boxes are famous throughout the world, nor are their filigree ornaments unworthy of admiration. But though skilful and intelligent as artisans, and abundantly endowed with the faculty of imitation, they are wretchedly deficient in imagination, and have no idea of invention. This defect is perhaps of less consequence now that they have the benefit of receiving their impulses from the most inventive nation in the world. Without doubt, their material prosperity will be largely augmented by the French domination, nor have they anything to lose in moral and social respects. The conquest of Cochin China may therefore be regarded as an advantage to the people themselves; but how far it is likely to yield any profit to the French is altogether another question, and one which at present we are not called upon to discuss. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.
From The Dublin Review.
CONSALVI'S MEMOIRS.
Memoires du Cardinal Consalvi, Secrétaire d'État du Pape Pie VII., avec une Introduction et des Notes. Par J. CRÉTINEAU-JOLY. 2 vols. 8vo. Paris: Plon. 1864.
M. Crétineau-Joly is a Vendéan, and there seems to be in his blood something of that pugnacious and warlike quality which so distinguished his forefathers. Each of his former publications betrays this combative propensity, and the introduction which accompanies Cardinal Consalvi's Memoirs is worthy of its predecessors. M. Crétineau-Joly is well known on the continent by his "History of the Jesuits"—a work containing a considerable amount of valuable information concerning that celebrated and much maligned order; but, at the same time, it may be considered in the light of an Armstrong gun, which batters and reduces to dust the bastions of an enemy. Indeed, it was ushered forth at the very height of the warfare which raged against the Church in France, a few years previous to the downfall of Louis Philippe. In 1858 the same writer produced a brochure bearing the following title, "The Church versus the Revolution," another broadside fired against crowned revolutionists, no less than against the sectarian hordes of a Mazzini and a Garibaldi. Hardly a year had elapsed when the French emperor invaded Lombardy, with what result the whole world is aware. So M. Crétineau-Joly had taken time by the forelock. And now, again, he comes forth with these highly interesting and authentic memoirs, written by the cardinal and prime minister of Pius VII. In every respect they may be proclaimed the most important, if not the most voluminous, of the editor's publications. No one, at the same time, will fail to perceive that between the actual situation of the Holy See and that which marked its history in the eventful years between 1799 and 1811, there underlies a startling similarity. Singularly enough, the second half of the nineteenth [{378}] century begins with the same picture of violence, the same hypocrisy, the same contempt of right by might, that characterized the dawn of the present age. On the one side, an all-powerful ruler, intoxicated by success, backed by a host of servile demagogues, and hardly less servile, though royal infidels; on the other, a weak old man, backed by a calm, deliberate, truly Christian genius—both wielding no other weapons but faith, hope, and charity—both torn from their home and judgment-seat by the iron hand of revolutionary despotism—and yet both riding triumphant over the seething waves, whilst the grim corpses of their enemies are washed to the shore, or startle the traveller as he comes suddenly upon them in his wanderings through Russian wilds. Ay, there she goes, that tiny ship of Peter's, with a Pius at her helm; now, as in bygone days, with an Antonelli as a commander—much about the same man as a Consalvi.