The Chinese and the “Outer Barbarians.”
China, and questions of Chinese policy—which only two years ago were the battle-field of fierce political contention, the subject of debates which menaced a Ministry with downfall, dissolved a Parliament, violently agitated the whole community at home, and engaged the controversies of the whole civilized world—seemed again to have been delivered over to that neglect and oblivion with which remote countries and their concerns are ordinarily regarded; but after the lull and the slumber, come again the rousing and the excitement, and China occupies anew the columns of the periodical press, and awakens fresh interest in the public mind.
The startling events which have taken place on the Tien-tsin river in China—popularly, but erroneously, known by the name of the Pei-Ho[1]—have re-kindled such an amount of attention and inquiry, that we feel warranted in devoting some of our earliest pages to the consideration of a topic involving our relations with a people constituting more than one-third of the whole human family, and commercial interests even now of vast extent, and likely to become in their future development more important than those which connect us with any other nation or region of the world. A brief recapitulation of the events preceding this last manifestation of Chinese duplicity will enable the reader to understand the character and objects of the Chinese government in their dealings with other nations.
A series of successful military and naval operations led to the treaties with China of 1842. The arts and appliances of modern warfare—the civilization of a powerful western nation—were directed against armies and defenses which represented the unimproved strategy of the middle ages,[2] and against regions pacific in their social organization, yet disordered, and even dislocated by internecine dissensions, which the enfeebled imperial authority was wholly incompetent to subdue or to control. The reigning dynasty was little able to resist a shock so overwhelming to its stolid pride, and so unexpected to its ignorant shortsightedness. Its hold upon the people being rather that of traditional prestige than of physical domination, the humiliation felt was all the more intolerable because inflicted by those “barbarians,” who, according to Chinese estimate, are beyond “heaven’s canopy.” It is currently believed in China that our earlier intercourse with the “central land” had only been allowed by the gracious and pitying condescension of the “son of heaven” to supplications that China might be permitted, from her abounding superfluities, to provide for the urgent necessities of the “outer races,” which could not otherwise be supplied. “How,” said the benevolent councillors of the Great Bright Dynasty, “how, without the rhubarb of the Celestial dominions, can the diseases of the red-haired races be cured? how can their existence be supported without our fragrant tea? how can their persons be adorned, unless your sacred Majesty will allow their traders to purchase and to convey to them our beautiful silk? Think how far they come—how patiently they wait—how humbly they supplicate for a single ray from the lustrous presence. Let not their hearts be made disconsolate by being sent empty away.”
Even after the severe lessons which the Chinese received in the war, and the sad exhibitions of their utter inability to offer any effectual resistance to our forces, the reports made by Keying, the negotiator of our first treaty, as to the proper manner of dealing with “barbarians,” are equally amusing and characteristic. These reports were honoured with the autograph approval of the emperor Taou-Kwang, written with “the vermilion pencil,”[3] and were found at Canton among the papers of Commissioner Yeh, to whom they had been sent for his guidance and instruction. In the end they proved fatal to the venerable diplomatist; for he having been sent down from the capital to Tien-tsin in order to meet the foreign ambassadors, and there to give practical evidence that he knew how to “manage and pacify” the Western barbarians, the documents which proved his own earlier treacheries were produced; he was put to open shame, and the poor old man, though a member of the Imperial family, was condemned to be publicly executed: a sentence which the emperor, in consideration for his high rank and extreme age, commuted into a permission, or rather a mandate, that he should commit suicide. Keying gratefully accepted this last favour from his sovereign, and so terminated his long and most memorable career.
It is withal not the less true that these reports represent the concentrated wisdom of the sages of China, and are fair and reasonable commentaries upon the teachings of the ancient books in reference to the proper mode of subduing or taming the “outside nations;” and as they throw much light upon the course of the mandarins, and give us the key by which their policy may be generally interpreted, some account of them will be neither superfluous nor uninstructive.
After stating that the English “barbarians” had been “pacified” in 1842, and the American and French “barbarians” in 1844, Keying goes on to report that it had been necessary to “shift ground,” and change the measures by which they were to be “tethered.” “Of course,” he says, they must be dealt with “justly,” and their “feelings consulted;” but they cannot be restrained without “stratagems”—and thus he explains his “stratagems.” Sometimes they must be “ordered” (to obey), and “no reason given;” sometimes there must be “demonstrations” to disarm their “restlessness” and “suspicions;” sometimes they must be placed on a footing of “equality,” to make them “pleased” and “grateful;” their “falsehoods must be blinked,” and their “facts” not too closely examined. Being “born beyond” (heaven’s canopy), the barbarians “cannot perfectly understand the administration of the Celestial dynasty,” nor the promulgation of the “silken sounds” (imperial decrees) by the “Great Council.” Keying excuses himself for having, in order “to gain their good-will,” eaten and drunk with “the barbarians in their residences and ships;” but he was most embarrassed by the consideration shown by the barbarians towards “their women,”[4] whom they constantly introduced; but he did not deem it becoming “to break out in rebuke,” which would “not clear their barbarian dulness.” He urges, however, the increasing necessity of “keeping them off, and shutting them out.” He takes great credit for refusing the “barbarians’ gifts,” the receipt of which might, he says, have exposed him to the penalties of the law. He did accept some trifles; but, giving effect to the Confucian maxim of “receiving little and returning much,” he gave the barbarians in return “snuff-bottles, purses,” and a “copy of his insignificant portrait.”