The entire Manchu Dynasty, Saul reflected, rested upon the same assumptions. Individual Mandarins possessing perfect wisdom administered the Great Empire presumably moved only by disinterested concern for the common weal. In practice, most Mandarins were neither wise nor incorruptible, but were swayed by vanity and greed.
“In rendering judgment, I must, above all, consider the stability of the Sacred Dynasty and the well-being of the family of man, that is, the hundreds of millions of Chinese.” The Prefect spoke loudly, so that the racing brush of the clerk seated behind the partition wall could record every word in flowing grass script for future generations. “The good order and the prosperity of Tienhsia, all that lies under Heaven, depends upon hsiao, filial piety. If men do not render perfect obedience to their parents, how will they render unquestioning loyalty to the Emperor, who is the father of us all? If the relationships between inferiors and superiors are not observed, how can the world be at peace? Yet we are dealing not with mere disobedience, heinous as that is. We are concerned with willful, persistent, unrepentant acts that drove a parent to suicide. The charge is, therefore, matricide, and matricide is an abomination.”
The charge was irrefutable, Aisek realized, and self-revulsion overcame him. His round head shook, and his heart fluttered in his throat. Bowed by the realization that he was guilty, his entire body trembled in self-condemnation.
“Yu tao-li …” he muttered in despair. “The logic is clear. I have sinned!”
Listening to Aaron’s rapid translation, Saul, too, acknowledged the Prefect’s logic. But it was logic stood on its head, for the Chinese had no word for logic in their rich language. Tao-li, the closest, did not mean logic, but “in accordance with the tao,” the indefinable “way” of the cosmos. The Chinese mind was divorced from logos, the Greek conviction that an ordered universe was comprehensible to human intelligence.
“I am confident I shall not require the services of the hsieh-chai in this case.”
The Prefect thus ventured a ponderous judicial jest. The hsieh-chai, a mythical unicorn, had served the legendary Kao Yao, the Minister of Justice who formulated the first Criminal Code for the legendary Emperor Shun millennia earlier. When even his acuity was baffled, Kao Yao had appealed to the infallible hsieh-chai to butt the guilty and ignore the innocent.
“The court will now descend to the practical issues. Produce Wang Maylu, concubine of the accused.”
Teetering on her bound feet, Maylu fastidiously drew aside the skirts of her gray tunic as she passed among the prisoners in cangues. When she knelt, the Prefect formally established her identity. Satisfied that the thirty-one-year-old woman with the candid expression was the lawful concubine of Aisek Lee, he began his examination. Having established that Aisek’s mother had hanged herself on the night of April 12, 1854, he probed her motivation.
“The Lady said … said she could no longer endure to live in abject poverty.” Maylu’s tremolo was barely audible. “Yes … an hour or so before … before she …”
“And before that,” the judge asked, “had she spoken often of poverty, her fears of poverty?”
“Yes, Your Honor, but it was not true,” the concubine asserted. “My man … he was a dutiful son, always respectful and loving to his mother. And he worked very hard, night and day, to make the family prosperous. He gave his mother every luxury. He worked to ensure that his sons could pass the civil service examinations and serve His Imperial Majesty. We were not poor. We were prosperous.”
“But the mother believed the family was poverty-stricken, did she not? She often spoke of poverty? Fear of poverty drove her to suicide, did it not?”
“I cannot say, Your Honor,” Maylu parried feebly. “I cannot say what was in her mind just before she hanged herself. Who can?”
“Why,” the judge insisted, “did she believe the Lee family was falling … had fallen … into poverty? Had it to do with her son’s business dealings? Had it to do with his partnership with the foreigner?”
“I cannot say why.” Maylu quailed under the Prefect’s admonitory glare. “Yes, Your Honor, she said the dealings with Ha-lee-vee had impoverished the family. But it was not true, Your Honor. It was only the mistaken idea of an old woman not quite right in her mind. We—the family—were growing more prosperous by the silk trade and other dealings in partnership with Ha-lee-vee. She didn’t know what was really happening—what was real and what she imagined. She was sick in her mind.”
“Your loyalty does you credit, virtuous lady. But the facts, as you state them, are irrefutable. First, the mother of the merchant Lee committed suicide because of her fear of poverty. Second, her fear arose directly from the actions of the accused. Did she plead with him to alter his ways—to give up the association with the barbarian Ha-lee-vee?”
“Yes, Your Honor, she did. But it had nothing to do with what was really happening.”
“And did the accused alter his ways in response to his mother’s pleading?”
“No, Your Honor, he didn’t. He could not.”
“And did the poor mother plead with the accused for a long time, more than a year?”
“Yes, Your Honor, but …”
“May I speak, Your Honor?” Aisek asked in a strangled whisper. “Just a word?”
Irresistible as the tide washing against a rock, the judge’s questions had worn away all Aisek’s remaining hope. Tormented by having failed his mother, he was crushed by the enormity of his crime—and he felt compelled to purge his conscience by confession.
“You may, accused,” the judge consented.
“I see … I understand now …” Aisek stammered. “I have behaved vilely, even abominably. Yet I could not act otherwise once I began. I could not withdraw from my business arrangements. If I had, I would have faced bankruptcy. No matter what my mother said, it was my duty to preserve the family, to maintain our property.”
“And to continue doing business with Ha-lee-vee?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Your plea is noted,” the Prefect observed noncommittally. “I shall now hear the testimony of Ha-lee-vee.”
Saul was allowed to stand because he had come voluntarily before the court, which could not summon a foreigner. His examination required no more than ten minutes, including translation by an interpreter who spoke fluent but broken English. The judge established that Saul had been the defendant’s partner in various commercial activities for five years. Saul acknowledged that Aisek had often spoken of his mother’s opposition to their association, but he pointed out that his partner had constantly reassured the old lady that their enterprises were making the Lee family rich, rather than impoverishing it. Furthermore, Aisek had never had any reason to believe his mother’s delusion would move her to extreme action.
The Prefect of Huating listened politely, permitting the foreigner a latitude of expression he would have tolerated from no Chinese witness. He had been told the case could have political repercussions, and he had been cautioned to be circumspect with the barbarian. He saw no impropriety in following that advice, though no extraneous considerations would affect his verdict.
“Was there,” the Prefect asked gently, “danger of serious reverses?”
“There is always such danger,” Saul replied. “The Lord God does not smooth the path before the feet of men all their days. In His wisdom, for His own reasons, He tries the spirits and the will of mortals.”
“Did your partnership ever experience such reverses?” The Judge suppressed his indignation at the barbarian’s invoking primitive superstition. “Did you ever fear that your partnership might fail—go bankrupt?”
“Of course, Your Honor, there were times when it seemed possible. As I have said, the Lord God …”
“I see.” The judge forestalled another outburst of superstition. “Then the fears of the mother of the accused were not wholly imaginary, were they? Impoverishment could have ensued.”
“True, Your Honor. But, as I have said, it did not occur. The firm
was doing well.”
“Thank you for your assistance, Ha-lee-vee.” The Prefect dismissed Saul with relief. “I shall weigh your words.”
The witness turned to go, but the judge had one further question.
“Were your shipments of silk from Soochow last year held up and threatened with confiscation by the Imperial Customs? Did you then fear major disruption, perhaps bankruptcy?”
“They were,” Saul replied. “But that was after Mrs. Lee committed suicide.”
“The time has no direct bearing in this case, since motivation is all-important,” the judge observed. “You have testified that the reverses feared by the mother of the defendant did in reality occur. You may go now.”
After enduring the barbarian’s unwitting insolence, the Prefect of Huating believed he had established the pertinent facts of the case. Yet the mother’s state of mind was its crux. To pursue her elusive motivation through the labyrinthine recollections of others was arduous but essential. He therefore called two further witnesses, the old lady’s personal maidservant and the major domo of the household.
Only two years younger than her mistress, the old amah testified through tears that the deceased had for several years bewailed the ruin her son’s dealings with barbarians were bringing upon the family. In all other respects, the faithful servant declared mendaciously, Mrs. Lee had been perfectly normal.
The judge listened sympathetically, interrupting only once or twice. He heard the testimony of the major domo just as patiently, leaning forward to make a note when the major domo spoke of the old mistress’s dishevelment, her wearing tattered clothing fit only for the grandmother of a struggling farming family, and her eating only dry rice garnished with salted vegetables, the food of the poor. The note read: “Self-deprivation: evidence of disturbed mind unrelated to son’s activities?”
Nineteen-year-old Aaron Lee was the last to testify. Since Aaron was a scholar qualified to take the first civil service examination, he naturally merited greater consideration than the lay witnesses and was, like Saul, privileged to stand, rather than kneel. Aaron Lee’s lean features, dominated by his arched nose, were fixed in grave respect as he strove for his father’s life—and his sincerity impressed the judge.
“What have you to say of your grandmother’s behavior, young man?” the judge asked. “When did she begin to act strangely?”
“Many years before my father entered into partnership with Ha-lee-vee,” Aaron replied. “Even when I was a small boy she would sometimes burst into unnatural gaiety, often followed by the deepest melancholy.”
“You contend, then, that your grandmother’s disturbed state of mind preceded your father’s business ventures with the barbarian? You are, I see, already learned in the law.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Yes, I do so contend. I would submit that no direct connection is demonstrable between my father’s business affairs and my honored grandmother’s lamentable self-destruction. I would suggest that my father’s success in business actually delayed my grandmother’s suicide. If we had not been prosperous, if hardship had reinforced her delusions, she would have taken extreme action much earlier. Rather than occasioning my grandmother’s suicide, I submit most respectfully, my father’s dealings with Ha-lee-vee prevented its occurring earlier.
“My father should be commended for persisting in his enterprises even over my grandmother’s objections. My esteemed father behaved with perfect filial piety in extremely trying circumstances.”
“What historical basis exists for that interesting contention, young scholar?” The Prefect was impressed by Aaron’s argument. “I assume that you have a precedent.”
“I would refer to the matter of the Master Confucius and the Duke of She. Since Your Excellency is profoundly versed in the ramifications of that precedent, I shall be brief. Against the Duke’s contention, the Sage judged that the highest form of filial piety was a son’s not shielding his father, who had stolen a sheep, since that act injured the greater family, all who live under Heaven.”
“And that analogy signifies?”
“Filial piety, I submit, Your Honor, is by the Master Sage’s own judgment not a simple matter. In this case, my father would have injured the family—and his mother—if he had withdrawn from the partnership as she demanded.”
“Well argued, young scholar,” the judge commended Aaron. “I shall consider your point. Now, accused, have you anything to say before I ponder my verdict?”
Although crushed by recognition of his sin, Aisek was heartened by his son’s pleading. His conviction of guilt remained fixed, since he felt that Aaron was only playing with words. Nonetheless, his son’s brilliance filled him with pride. The repute that penetrating argument must win for Aaron would assist his official career. Whatever the father’s fate, the family would benefit thereby.
“Your Honor, I profoundly repent having contributed to my mother’s great unhappiness and her self-destruction—however indirectly and unintentionally,” he declared humbly. “I have grieved for many months, and I shall grieve all my life over my failure to preserve her into great old age. I see now how deeply I sinned. I would only explain—not defend myself—that I sincerely believed I could not act otherwise to best provide for my mother and the entire family. I cast myself upon Your Honor’s mercy. Do with me what you will. To live with my grief is the severest punishment I can conceive.”
Saul gasped when David translated his partner’s statement. Even Aaron’s spirited argument must fail, he felt, since Aisek’s admission of guilt must result in conviction. Aaron was silently attentive, but David beamed.
“He’s said it just right,” he whispered. “Humble, contrite, raising the interests of the entire family. I think he’s got a chance. I really do.”
The Prefect of Huating bent over the documents on the red cloth. Occasionally referring to his notes, he jotted down the main points of his summation. He called upon his clerk several times to check the record, and read again through the preliminary files.
After twenty minutes, the Prefect finally spoke with the solemnity befitting the grave charge: “This is a most instructive case, replete with significance that extends far beyond the particular circumstances. As I have already noted, the stability of the Sacred Dynasty, as well as the security of all who live under Heaven, rests upon the bedrock of hsiao, filial piety. Harmony among mankind, as the Sages have repeatedly stressed, requires strict observance of the hierarchy of relationships. A parent is a parent, and a child is a child. They must behave as such—or society will crumble.”
Aaron’s complex intellect was so entranced by the play of argument that he almost forgot the Prefect was pronouncing his father’s fate. David grimaced behind his hand, weary of the rote wisdom the judge piously mouthed.
“Fortunately, the facts are clear—and the verdict is inescapable,” the Prefect resumed after leisurely sipping his tea. “One fundamental issue remains: Filial piety is the basis of our lives, but what, after all, is filial piety? Is it the intent or the deed—or both? Does the intent transcend the deed in this case, as provided under certain passages of the Criminal Code? Are we concerned primarily with what the accused intended to do or with the effect of his actions? Whatever the effect of his actions, I am satisfied that his intent was honorable, even pious.”
David laughed into Saul’s ear and summarized those remarks. All, he whispered confidently, would be well. Aaron was silent.
“However, my verdict must accord with precedents and law. Two earlier cases are particularly pertinent, as are sections 1504 and 1506 of the Criminal Code.” David translated the summing up for Saul. “In the twenty-fifth year of Chia Ching of the Ming, the year 1562, one Li Ching-wen of Shansi Province rented out his land to finance development of a coal mine. Horrified at that alienation of the family’s sacred patrimony and fearing destitution, his mother committed suicide. In the ninth year of the Tao Kwang Emperor of the present Dynasty, 1830, one Wei Hsing-chou of Kwangtung Province, protecting his mother
from attack, wounded the assailant with a knife. Fearing disgrace when the case came to court, his mother committed suicide. Both accused were found guilty. Those instructive precedents are, however, not conclusive, since this case is dominated by the question of intent.
“Fortunately, we possess a circular issued by the Ministry of Justice in the twenty-sixth year of the reign of Chien Lung, 1762, with the Emperor’s express approval. The directive clarifies the punishments for children’s conduct that causes parental suicide. The circular distinguishes between: first, essentially peripheral misdeeds that result in a parent’s suicide, and, second, persistence in gravely immoral and illegal acts with the same effect. The penalty for the first is exile, for the second beheading.”
Kneeling on his pillow, Aisek neither hoped nor despaired. He was chiefly aware of the aching of his calves after more than two hours in that cramped posture. Besides, he could not follow the legal technicalities.
“What then have we here?” the Judge continued. “Accused, your actions caused your mother’s suicide, whatever their intent. That you have yourself acknowledged, and your honesty counts in your favor. Moreover, the weight of the witnesses’ testimony is irrefutable. On the other hand, you wished her nothing but good. Yet you knew she was melancholy and confused. Knowing she suffered delusions, you persisted in the actions that strengthened those delusions. You are, in that sense, more culpable.
“I congratulate you upon your son. He has displayed not only exemplary filial piety, but penetrating understanding of the Classics and familiarity with the law remarkable in one who is only a candidate for the civil service examinations. He has also argued tellingly that your mother would have taken her own life regardless of your actions. And he has strikingly demonstrated that her delusions commenced before your partnership with the barbarian Ha-lee-vee.”
Aaron permitted himself a wintry smile. He also permitted himself to hope for a favorable verdict as he preened himself in the spectators’ admiring glances. The Prefect poured a fresh cup of tea and sipped the straw-colored fluid before referring to his notes again.
Mandarin Page 9